


tell you my love for you

by jelliebean



Series: love, shellhead [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Normal High School, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Based on Love Simon, Blackmail, Coming Out, Getting Together, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Identity Porn, Justin Hammer is a dick, M/M, Partially epistolary, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-06-17 05:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15454686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelliebean/pseuds/jelliebean
Summary: A guy at Shield High comes out on tumblr, anonymously.  Tony thought he was the only gay guy on campus--not out, because of Howard--and sends him an email.“Hey, Flying.  Same here.  I’ve got a secret too, and it’s like I’m hiding who I am, every day.  From everyone.  All the closest people to me.  But I just can’t tell them.  I’m gay, too. It feels like I’m putting on this mask, this shell of who I think they want me to be.  Even though I don’t think my friends would judge me.  I don’t know why.  I just.  I’ve got a secret.  –Shell”The guy seems great--amazing, even, and then Hammer has to step in and ruin it all.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Sam plopped his tray down at the table, unceremoniously depositing his carrot sticks on Steve’s tray and grabbing his apple slices instead.  Steve just rolled his eyes.

“Guys, I have great news,” Sam started.

Natasha looked up, intrigued, a hint of a smile starting.

“My parents are out of town this weekend, and Stevie and I are throwing a party! It’s a Halloween party, and everyone’s invited! Costumes mandatory! Or, you know, clothing optional!” He fist bumped Rhodey to punctuate.

Tony jumped up immediately. “Yes! This is great! Fifty bucks to the best costume! Hey, you,” he pointed at the next table, “you’re invited! Sam’s house, party, spread the word! You, yeah, you, you’re invited too! And you!”

A curly haired boy looked up, startled.  “Me?”

“Yeah you!” Rhodey chimed in.  “You’ll fit right in!”

“James, that boy’s like nine,” Pepper tried to admonish him, but she was laughing.  “He’s clearly a lost 7th grader, and you’re going to corrupt him!”

“Nah, that’s Peter.  He’s the freshman on the team,” Steve said.  “He’s super smart.  Like Tony.”

Tony looked down at Steve, affronted.

“Okay, well, maybe not quite as smart,” Steve amended. “So, I’m holding a chem study group after school Friday.  I mean it’s no _Halloween party_ , but you’re all invited to that, too.”

“I’m not sure, let me check my calendar,” Tony said, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Suddenly his phone disappeared, snatched from his grasp by VP Coulson.  “Stark, take some time for the real world.  You can’t be wrapped up in tech all day. Take some time to breathe.”

The blood drained from Tony’s face.  No one could look at his phone.  “Please, Coulson—” he started.

“Nope.  I’m sorry, Tony.  Same rules apply, even if you’ve donated the computer lab.” Coulson was implacable that way, perfectly fair, all of the time. “You can get it back after school.”

Tony’s stomach whirled dramatically as his mind raced, but Coulson had already moved on to the next table.  “Justin, hand it over.  No phones at lunch; you know the rules.”

The lunch table rolled their eyes, undisturbed by the routine interruption.  “Nat, what are you going to be for Halloween?” Sam asked, side-eying hard. 

She shrugged, coyly, sorting her tater tots by what seemed to be size and relative crispiness.  “Not sure.  Big decision, first Halloween in a new place.  Why, what do you want me to be?”

Tony couldn’t concentrate.  He couldn’t focus on anything.  Class went by in a blur, robotics meeting was a giant waste of time because Bruce was in a meeting with Dr. Selvig and Hammer couldn’t remember his password on the tool cabinet.  Finally Tony just shouldered him aside and entered his own code.  Still, they barely made any progress on their competitive robot by the time Natasha had to leave for practice.  Tony finished cleaning up the tools, setting them all back neatly and cursing that he didn’t have Dum-E in the school robotics lab to help.  Finally, he made his way to Coulson’s office.

Vice Principal Coulson was kind, but a bit of a talker.  Still, he cared about his students. 

“Tony, I know you have a lot of pressure on you.  But you need to take a break, see things the way they are.” He tapped the vintage bobblehead sitting on his desk. “Expectations on you are high. They are. Higher than they should be. You might feel like you’re under a microscope here, since I know Howard has high hopes for you.” He smiled kindly at Tony.

“Sure, Mr. Coulson,” Tony said, desperately trying to think of an excuse to get his phone back sooner. He was pretty sure he had set gmail to just show an alert when he got a new message, but he wasn’t sure. 

Coulson patted Tony on the shoulder. “But Tony, you’re going to be an adult soon.  On your own.  You’ll see that things get better.  That sometimes you have to relax. Take a break. Put down all the new shiny tech and look around for a minute, sit on a beach somewhere.” He pulled Tony’s phone out of a desk drawer.  “I can see how much this little speech really convinced you,” he said dryly, taking in Tony’s nervous energy and the way that his eyes seemed to be glued to his phone.  He shook his head, motioning Tony toward the door.

As Tony stepped into the hallway, Hammer pushed off the wall to walk with him. Ugh.  

“So, Tony, Tones, my friend,” Hammer’s oily voice oozed at him. 

“Hammer.”

“I was just, you know, collecting my phone from Coulson. Turns out our phones look a lot alike.  You’d never know the difference.”

“Okay.” Oh.  Oh god. 

“So, I know you like numbers.  So I thought you might be interested to know that while the general population is about 10% gay, Shield High apparently only has two.  Gay.  Guys.”

Fuck.

 

Look, it all started a few days ago. 

Pepper’s face showed up on Tony’s screen.  Facetime.  He hadn’t even brushed his hair yet.

“What’s up, Pep?” he asked, swiping a comb through a reluctant tangle.

“Tony. Have you seen ShieldSpies today?” Her voice bubbled, excitedly.  “Oh, my goodness.  I don’t know why we don’t have a club yet for this.  I wonder if ASB wants to start a club, or maybe the model UN would want to take it on.” She was already musing, and Tony had no idea.  He opened his laptop, logging on to Pepper’s favorite gossip site.

Christ.  “I’m going to have to call you back, Pepper,” he said quickly, brain fritzing like his first two attempts at programming U.  “Um, Dum-E’s got his claw on the fire extinguisher again and he’s about to douse the carpet.”

“Okay, call me back, I think I’m going to talk to Mr. Coulson tomorrow,” Pepper responded absently, probably already listing the requirements for how to start the charter for a new club.  A gay club.  A gay-straight alliance, knowing Pepper. 

Tony hit the hang up button on his phone, then shoved it hastily under his pillow.  He read the posting on ShieldSpies, then reread. 

“Sometimes I feel like I’m flying and the wind is turbulent, I’m hitting little pockets of air. Sometimes I’m on top of the world, I have everything. And sometimes I feel like my stomach is falling out from under me, because I have everything, but I’m also hiding a secret: I’m gay. –Flying.”

Tony’s face flushed, then went pale.  When he looked at his hand it was actually trembling.  It was like someone had put his own thoughts, right there, on the screen, out in public.  Someone braver than him, anyway.  Downstairs, he could hear Jarvis moving around, probably setting out his toast.  His mother was already drifting into her parlor, a glass of coffee in one hand.  Coffee and amaretto.  Howard was already gone.  He had been for a week.  There was little chance anyone would come up and disturb him.  Holding his breath, he created a gmail account. 

“Hey, Flying.  Same here.  I’ve got a secret too, and it’s like I’m hiding who I am, every day.  From everyone.  All the closest people to me.  But I just can’t tell them.  I’m gay, too. It feels like I’m putting on this mask, this shell of who I think they want me to be.  Even though I don’t think my friends would judge me.  I don’t know why.  I just.  I’ve got a secret.  –Shell”

His mind was whirring, and he didn’t think he’d breathed since he started typing.  Before he could think better, he clicked send. What’s the worst that could happen, right? He brushed his teeth, got dressed, and flashed Jarvis a patented Tony Stark smile on his way out, skipping breakfast.  He couldn’t eat. He pulled the A4 out of the driveway, then swung by to pick up Rhodey and Pepper.  Last stop was Natasha, the new girl who seemed to fit in with their friends just fine.  She was a bit of a geek, on the robotics team with Tony and kicking ass on the lacrosse team.  For some reason the other team just never saw her coming and then all of a sudden she was scoring on them. 

Rhodey kicked the back of the chair.  “Tones, how’s the robotics championship coming? Should we show up at competition this weekend?”

Tony groaned.  “It’s so stupid that we have to be on one team. Shield High is big enough for two teams and then I wouldn’t have to—”

“--be on a team with Hammer,” the others chimed in, even Natasha. She already hated the slick git.

Tony drove to school, distracted, but listening to his friends with one ear.  His mind was working overtime, trying to figure out who it was, who was the guy? Would he write back?

He got an email as they piled out of his car, and he sent the others on ahead of him.  “I’ll catch up,” he told Pepper, as she gave him a curious look.  He opened his screen. 

“Hey, Shell.  It’s hard, I think, when you feel like, you almost fit in.  Like, you almost got it right.  Everyone else thinks you’ve got it made, you’ve got it together, but you’re just. Not. Like. Them.  So, I understand.  Have you ever thought of coming out to anyone? I have. Years ago. To my best friend.  I mean, I’d thought about it. If only to get him to stop trying to set me up with girls.  But I don’t know.  It ended up being a moot point, since he moved out of the country a few years ago.  And now, my friends, they’re great, but we’re still relatively new friends. What if they hate me? I guess I just want to be sure. –Flying”

Tony’s mind raced.  A guy, with a male best friend who moved out of the country. Well, no guarantees that Flying had always been part of the school. Maybe they both moved at the same time, if he said his friends were new.  That.  Really didn’t help the odds.  That still left approximately half the school.

“Flying, No.  I really haven’t.  Ever.  Like I said, I don’t think my friends would care that much. They’re really the best.  But I don’t think my family would take it as well.  That would be a real blow to my family, especially my dad.  It’s hard to think that I wouldn’t live up to his expectations. That he’d be disappointed in me. Again. What about your parents? –Shell”

He couldn’t concentrate for the whole day, not that it mattered for his grades.  School was easy. But after school, there was still no reply.  Okay. No big deal.  Not a big deal at all.  Tony halfheartedly wrote a program to optimize routes for the school bus to get to school. He said he’d work on it for Principal Fury as part of his last detention.  It wasn’t difficult anyway, just needed to download the school maps and overlay one of his first game theory programs.  Basic choice stems.  There were a few odd outliers. Tony himself, not that he took the bus.  But the kids next door did.  Tony had offered to give them a ride once, but they’d just looked at him oddly. At first he didn’t even think they spoke English.  There was a housing complex on the north side that was oddly disconnected from the rest of the district by a golf course, but the kids there could all pile onto the same bus.  Steve Rogers lived out a fair ways, too, not all that close to anyone else.  Sam Wilson, maybe.  And then Natasha’s residence wasn’t listed, which was both weird and unsurprising at the same time, but Tony always picked her up at the same corner, three blocks after Rhodey’s house.  She didn’t need the bus.

He was just finishing the third optimization when his phone buzzed.  An email.  From Flying.  Tony’s body tingled in anticipation.  He didn’t even know this guy, but it was somehow, in some ways, closer than he’d gotten to nearly anyone.  This person knew he was gay, even if he didn’t know him.  This guy knew what he was going through.  He locked his door and swiped the email open.

“Hey, Shell, I’m not sure.  I don’t think they would mind, but maybe I’m just being overly optimistic? They aren’t stopping me from coming out.  I don’t think they would be disappointed in me.  It’s not them.  They’re great. But it’s kind of complicated.  In a way, I feel like I owe them—like I have to be good for them.  Because they’ve done so much for me, much more than they needed to do.  Does that make sense? 

Besides, it’s my last year in school, and I don’t want them to have to deal with more. It just seems easier to stay quiet about it.  I think I’d hurt more people by coming out than I do by staying quiet.  I mean, what if my friends did decide to stick by me? I don’t want them to lose out on the rest of high school. I don’t want people to pick on them. I don’t want them to get bullied because of me, because I came out. That would be on me.  I can’t do that to them. Maybe you think I’m just being a coward.  Maybe I am. 

I’m really sorry to hear about your dad.  I know some people take longer to realize that it doesn’t matter who you love than other people do.  Do you think something would change his mind? Are you safe where you are?

Sorry, this was a really long email.  I just haven’t ever been able to talk to anyone about it before.  Ever.  You’re like this amazing secret place where I’m just me, no expectations, no pressure.  I really appreciate it.  Maybe I’m not ready for the world to know that I’m gay, but I’m so glad that I can talk with you about it. 

-Flying”

Well, he wasn’t wrong, Tony thought. It was a long email.  And Tony did know how he felt.  Exactly how he felt.  Pepper and Rhodey would definitely stick by him. Definitely.  But it would change everything in his life.  They’d known him forever. Pepper was his girlfriend from preschool through kindergarten, back when they’d thought being boyfriend and girlfriend meant dressing up in your mom’s pearls and drinking lemonade out of martini glasses.

“Flying, I get what you’re saying about not wanting to disappoint, or complicate. I don’t really feel that way about my dad, but my mom is already—” Tony broke off.  How did he say it? It wasn’t that she didn’t care. She did. He was sure of it.  But she wasn’t strong. It’s like she wasn’t strong enough to handle Howard and love Tony, too.  She only had enough for one of them.  And in a way, handling Howard was part of loving Tony, part of being his mother.  She’d talked his way out of several beatings.  After the first grade yearbook photo, she made sure Howard didn’t find the stain on his new shirt.  Sure, she took it to Jarvis, but that was her way.  She loved him.  And he didn’t want to give Flying the impression that she didn’t.  So: “my mom is already taking on a lot.  I don’t want to make her do more, either.  So yeah, I see exactly what you mean.

You know, Flying, I don’t think there’s anything in the world that could change my dad’s mind. The president could come out as gay, and he would just make sure to donate however much money it took to get him out of office the next cycle.” Tony stopped and re-read.  Nope. Sure, many of the families at Shield High were wealthy, but maybe not as wealthy as the Starks.  So. “…and he would make sure to vote him out of office the next cycle. But I’m not in danger.” He _wasn’t_ , Tony reasoned with himself.  Because Howard would goddamn never find out.  Not until Tony was living on his own, paying his own way, far far from his father.

“But—and I may be overstepping my bounds here, it’s pretty common with me—I feel like you shouldn’t worry about being what your parents want you to be. You said you wanted to be good for them.  You’re still good, Flying.  I mean, I don’t really know you, but I feel like I know what kind of a person you are.  The guy who worries about his friends getting bullied when _he_ comes out? That guy is a good person. And I don’t think you’re a coward. I’m not out either, right?

So you’re a senior, huh? Me too.  Last Halloween here, and Shield kids always go all out.  What are you going to be for this, your final year? Big decision, right?

-Shell”

Tony hit send, locked his phone, and unlocked his door.  Jarvis brought him supper. Tony played around with his microcircuits. What did this guy sound like? Did he have a deep voice? Or maybe a lighter tone? What did he look like? Shield High was pretty racially diverse.  Someone with family drama. Was he from a more conservative culture? Did they have to struggle to make it? An immigrant family? A senior. Maybe he was tall.  Maybe he was gorgeous and built ala Steve Rogers.  On the other hand, maybe he was a little weird, like that exchange student Stephen Strange.  Maybe he wasn’t white.  Maybe he was from a South Asian background. Was he Latino? Bronzed skin and darker hair than Tony’s? Tony tried to picture him, tried out different intonations, reading and re-reading the emails.  His phone stayed silent all night.

The next morning, still nothing.  He picked up Pepper, Rhodey, and then Natasha, listening as Pepper talked about her new budget reports for prom, and Rhodey reminding her that the dance was still over six months away.  Natasha agreed with Pepper, though, having a good mind for budgets.

Outside school, Tony checked his phone for an email. Nothing.  He locked his phone, and slipped it into his pocket.  Everything was fine.  AP Bio was still a cakewalk, Theoretical physics was still at a point where he could do it with his eyes closed—even if Dr. Selvig did try to accelerate the curriculum—and in English they were still talking about Hamlet.  Well, he knew something about daddy issues.  Everything was fine.  Until lunch, when Mr. Coulson took his goddamn phone.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony shoved Hammer into the nearest bathroom, his mind racing. How had Hammer even gotten into his—oh, fuck. How had he been so dumb? His passcode to the tool cabinet was the same as his phone.  And he’d opened that cabinet right in front of this asshole.  Fuck. “So, what, Justin? You going to tell my dad? Your dad? What? What does it take to buy scum like you off?” God, Hammer could ruin him.  His father. 

Hammer straightened his tie, the prick. “Woah, Tony, no need to get so hostile!” He smoothed down his lapels.  “Look.  You’re friends with the new girl. She’s hot.  So…” he let his voice taper off, a thick layer of slime trailing in its wake. 

Ugh.  No. No.  Tony’s pulse raced, his stomach didn’t want to stay in place.  But what could Hammer possibly do to Natasha? Nothing. The girl was more than capable of handling herself and then some. So, what, he had them all hang out together for a couple awkward sessions? Okay. Not so bad, right? He could do that.  He could.  And she wouldn’t ever let him touch her anyway. So he could buy off Hammer, stay in his good graces. Because if Howard found out… Shit.  Tony didn’t even want to think about what would happen.  He’d be disowned, first.  Out of the company. Pulled from school.  Maybe sent to one of those praythegayaway camps. Or maybe Howard would just try to beat it out of him.  Not like it hadn’t happened before, the sleeping with the teddy bear, that one brief moment in kindergarten when he wanted to be a writer. 

“Or what? You’ll tell people? It’ll be a rumor! Nobody even cares about rumors. Everyone knows how much shit gets made up and you have always been trying to start shit with me, you little fucking weasel.”

Hammer slipped his own phone open.  “True, Tony, true, my friend! But… I’ve got screenshots. And I airdropped them to myself.” He grinned again.  Disgusting.  “Besides, it’s not just you, is it? It’s your…” he sneered, “…friend.”

Tony weighed the odds for a split second.  Keep Hammer baited for eight months, give or take.  String him along just enough, never letting him too close to Nat… maybe something new and shiny would come along. If he could just keep up the game for those short months, he’d be out free.  Nat would never even have to know.  His father.  Howard.  He wouldn’t be able to touch him once he turned eighteen.  Okay. It was a deal with the devil, for sure, but Tony thought he’d be able to do it.  Play Hammer. Protect Natasha. Keep everyone’s secrets. 

“Okay.  After robotics tomorrow, Nat is coming to Steve’s chemistry study group.  Do you want to come with us?”

Hammer slung his arm around Tony’s shoulders.  “You will _not_ regret this, my friend.”

Tony shrugged his arm off.  “I already regret it, you asshole.” He walked quickly to the exit.

“That’s no way to talk to your best friend, Tony!” Hammer called after him.  Prick. 

 

\--

Tony changed his passwords immediately. All of them.  He grabbed a snack from the kitchen, said hi to Jarvis and his mother, and locked himself in his room. He had an email. 

“Shell,

Wow.  I slipped up. I had to go back and re-read and find where I told you what grade I’m in.  I’m an idiot.  Yeah. Senior year.  I don’t know.  Maybe a superhero or something.  Like, Batman. I didn’t want to be him or anything, when I was growing up—actually, I could never be like him—but he was always my favorite. I used to come home and watch the cartoon with my best friend after school, and eat chocolate chip cookies.  My mom taught me how to make the most amazing chocolate chip cookies.  I haven’t made them in ages. But it’s probably too late to get a Batman costume at this point anyway. Besides, if I tell you, then you’ll know who I am.  I’m not sure I’m ready for that. 

And it would be unfair of me to ask, given that. So instead, who was your favorite superhero growing up? And when did you know you were gay?

-Flying”

Tony’s stomach did an uncomfortable flip.  Was he ready to be known? Maybe not.  Sure, this guy had a point.  Okay.  He hadn’t meant to pry.  But on the other hand, Flying didn’t seem to mind, just wasn’t ready to share. No problem.  Tony was totally patient. Super patient.  Winning awards for his patience left and right. 

This guy liked Batman.  Batman was awesome.  He had all the toys, made all the tech.  Actually, the rappelling rope from his belt was the inspiration for one of the Dum-E’s upgrades, making sure he could get from point-A to point-B in the beginning. He’d used it on the robotics team, too, for guidance. 

“Flying,

Don’t worry. I understand.  You know, I like Batman, but my favorite was always Wonder Woman.  You know, Lasso of Truth, doing the right thing the right way.  I mean, they’re both vigilantes, technically, but the way she would always end up tied up and then rescue herself—actually, that doesn’t exactly sound how I meant it.  I mean the way she would always… now that I think about it, there was a lot of kinky shit in Wonder Woman.  Okay, maybe let’s take a step back from that one, reconsider why I was so into WW.  Man.  I mean, I thought it was because she was all about equality and justice, and my dad thought it was because I wanted to bone her, so win-win.  But now… It’s like my entire childhood is being refocused, right in front of my eyes!

Okay.

Sorry, sort of still reeling from all that.  When did I know I was gay… Okay this is going to be really embarrassing.  Do you remember that documentary they did on that group of scientists heading up past the ISS? That sounds super nerdy, I know; it was called _The Fantastic Four_ , and Discovery played it like every day for three months.  Well, the young astronaut, John Storm… It was just like Wonder Woman, actually. My dad thought I had a thing for his sister, Sue. 

What about you?

-Shell”

\--

“Um, hey guys, does anyone know why Justin Hammer is at my door?” Steve asked curiously.  “Is he even in chemistry this year?”

“ _Justin_ Hammer?” Pepper asked, looking up from her color coordinated post-it notes.

Bruce quietly groaned, but under his breath.

Tony forced down the urge to vomit.  “Oh, that’s me.  He had some ideas about robotics and thought he’d drop by. After all, Nat and Bruce and I are on the team and now we’re all in one place.”

Sam pretended to yack up a hairball while Natasha glared at Tony.  “Couldn’t he have just texted?” she asked.  “Or emailed? Or face-timed?”

Sam grinned at her.  “Passenger pigeon? Smoke signal?"

"He's not really that bad, sort of," Bruce halfheartedly defended him.  Then he made a face. "Well, that is, he sort of is, but..."

“Sorry, guys,” Tony said, feeling weighted down with guilt.  He glanced at Steve. “I really am.”

Steve just smiled at him. “It’s okay, Tony.  Don’t worry about it. Any of your friends are always welcome here, too.”

Sam rolled his eyes. 

Christ. That kid was too nice for his own good. “Oh, he’s not my friend,” Tony assured him, going to open the door.  Hammer hadn’t stopped pounding on the doorbell anyway.  “Quit it, Hammer,” he said as soon as he opened the door.  A wave of cologne assaulted him as Hammer pushed past him. 

“Jesus, what’s that smell?” Sam asked, clearly trying to figure out why Hammer reeked so strongly of sandalwood.  Bruce looked a little green around the edges, but he had what Tony recognized as his blandest smile plastered across his face.

Steve looked at him reprovingly.  “Cookies,” he said, warning in his voice. “They’re almost ready.”

“Shit, you made your mom’s recipe?” Sam asked, willing to overlook Hammer in favor of something better.  “Hell yeah! Chem study group is awesome! It’s been like a year since I’ve had one of my favorite chocolate chip buddies.”

Holy Hell.  Was Steve Rogers his email buddy? Tony tried to mentally tally all the things he knew about Steve and his mystery friend.  Senior? Check. Mom’s cookie recipe? Yep.  Batman, slightly weird parent situation, and best friend in another country… not so sure.  Actually, what did Tony know about Steve’s parents? Nothing, really. Tony’d never seen them. And he’d always assumed Sam was Steve’s best friend. They ran cross country together (Steve made Captain as a sophomore) and they were always hanging out.  But they’d both transferred into Shield High as freshmen, and he didn’t really know them before that.  He thought Steve had mentioned something about living in Brooklyn, and he was pretty sure Sam’s family was mostly in Virginia.  They’d just sort of had their own friendship going on, and gradually merged into part of Tony’s group too, when Rhodey and Sam started bonding over being in their words “The best-looking part of the track team” and Pepper had teamed up with Steve for their art project, two years running.  It was actually really impressive.  They collaborated on their planning and research, and then Pepper wrote the paper for her Art History class while Steve created the new piece based on their plans in Advanced Studio Art.

So two out of five.  That wasn’t great odds.  How could he ask about another best friend or parents without being super awkward? On the other hand, Steve Goddamn Rogers---that was like Tony’s wet dream. Actually, it was one of his literal wet dreams, not that he felt like admitting it.  Do Not Think About That Dream. Tony refused to get a boner while Hammer was in the room.  Besides, he’d be mortified.  What if it wasn’t Steve? 

“Tony? Tony!” Nat flicked his knee. Ouch.  He’d sort of lost his train of thought.  “You want a soda?”

“Sure,” he said, mentally kicking himself for his own silent pun about being thirsty. 

“Nat, Tasha, lovely lady, you just tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you,” Hammer told her. 

She just breezed past him. “I got it.”  She came back, carrying three cans of tangerine soda, handing them off to Bruce and Tony.  Sam followed with a plate of cookies, and Steve was just behind him with a stack of napkins.

They started going through the study guide, but Tony couldn’t focus.  He was too wrapped up in trying to monitor Hammer and scan the room for any odd family photos or Batman memorabilia. 

Hammer was his normal douchey self, scooting a little too close to Nat, being a little too loud.  She kept inching away from him.  Finally she stood up. “I’m going to go find the bathroom,” she said. 

Tony jumped up. “I’ll go with you. Totally have to pee.” Maybe he’d see something more of Steve. Something that would tell him, definitively.

Nat looked closely at him.  Then she shrugged. 

“Down the hallway, second door on the left,” Pepper told them as she sorted through another stack of green index cards. 

“So why’d you really invite Hammer?” Nat asked as they walked down the hallway.

“Hm? Oh, I told you. Robotics thing.”

Nat made a skeptical sounding noise. “Steve was a cute kid,” she said, noticing one of the photos in the hallway.  She left Tony standing there, slipping into the bathroom. 

Steve was a cute kid.  Tiny.  Tony remembered when Steve had come to Shield High, he’d been clearly in the middle of a growth spurt.  He’d been maybe 5’7” when he arrived, and nothing fit him quite right. By winter break he’d been taller than Mr. Coulson, so maybe 5”10.  By the end of the school year, he’d been well over six feet.  Sophomore year was when he bulked up, earning those pecs in the school weight room.

The photo further down the hallway—beyond the bathroom—was older.  Steve was maybe ten—well before puberty. And his arm was slung around another kid that Tony didn’t recognize.  Brown hair. Scrappy.  Bigger than Steve, for sure.  Was this the mystery best friend?  3/5 was pretty good.  60%.  That was almost passing. 

“What the hell, Tony!” a voice hissed at his elbow.  “Natasha’s been just warmer than ice with me.  You were supposed to make her like me!”

“No! That wasn’t the deal, Hammer,” Tony whispered back.  “I said I’d invite you places, I can’t change whether she likes you or not!”

“Well, step up your game, Stark, or you know what I’ll do.  I’ll destroy you,” Hammer spit at him.  “Your father will disown you.  You’ll be out on the street within minutes. Your mother will have a goddamn heart attack and it’ll be your fault.” They could hear the sink turn on, water splashing.  A second later the door opened, and Hammer slung his arm quickly around Tony’s neck.

“Boys,” Natasha said, eyes sharp.  “All yours.” 

Tony wondered what he looked like. Miserable, probably.  He dashed into the bathroom, locking the door.  He checked his phone reflexively. Nothing.  Of course, if it _was_ Steve, he couldn’t be emailing, he was in the middle of a study group. 

Fuck Hammer.  Fuck him.  Tony felt trapped.  His father _would_ disinherit him, disown him.  His mother probably wouldn’t have a heart attack, but she wouldn’t stand up for him, either.  What were his options?  If Howard kicked him out, he could probably couch surf with Rhodey and Pepper until he could get on his own feet.  He just needed to start saving up some capital of his own, squirreling it away so that he’d have it when he needed it.  And pull his work off of the SI servers, so that he could patent it to himself and sell it, rather than just letting Howard market it as his own work.  Okay.  He could make that happen in… if things went right, if he worked hard at it, maybe a month or so.  Just so he’d land on his feet.

He took a deep breath and splashed water on his face.  It was going to be okay. He went back out to his friends.

“So guys, hypothetical: Luke Skywalker turns evil and a superhero has to take him down.  Who’s it going to be?”

“What the hell, Tones, what the hell do you do in the bathroom?” Rhodey asked. 

“Where did you come from?” Tony asked. 

Rhodey shrugged, picking up another cookie.  “The ROTC info session ended twenty minutes ago. I came over right away. Sam sent me a photo of these babies,” he said, looking fondly at his cookie. 

Sam threw another cookie at his head but Rhodey just caught it in his mouth.  “Sfpffprrmfnnn,” he said, chewing. 

“Superman? No way, man, the Flash.  He’d be so fast Skywalker would never catch him,” Sam said.

“Steve?” Tony asked, a little desperate.  “Any input?”

“I mean, my favorite is always Batman,” Steve began.  _Bingo_ , Tony thought, little butterflies fluttering violently in his stomach.  _It_ is _you._ This was the best thing that had ever happened to him.  “But I’m not sure if physics can defeat the Force.”

Tony was practically exploding with excitement.  “Rogers, you don’t trust physics? I’m sure physics can defeat the Force, physics is the best it can do anything,” he started, getting ready to defend his favorite science.  A cookie hit him in the side of the head. 

“Man, physics can’t even protect you from a cookie,” Sam said, looking wide-eyed and too innocent. 

“Bruce, help me out here,” Tony pleaded

Bruce just shook his head.  “I don’t know, Tony. The Force operates outside of the physical realms as we know it. I don’t know that we have enough data to come to a conclusion on it.”

“I’m betrayed!” Tony clutched his heart dramatically.

“Clearly Wonder Woman is the only person who can take down an evil Luke Skywalker,” Natasha broke in.  “Right, Justin?”

Wait, what?

“Definitely,” Hammer agreed, smiling thickly.  “Wonder Woman for sure.”

The study group broke down from there, but Tony couldn’t stop smiling the entire time.  They packed it in early, since Steve and Sam had regionals the next day.

He got an email that night.  11pm. 

“Shell,

So you’re nerdy, huh? I like that.  I think intelligence is incredibly attractive.  Sometimes I feel like all my friends are super smart.  I’m really lucky to have them.

When did I first know?  I feel like I’ve always known.  Ever since I knew what attraction was, I knew I wasn’t attracted to women. Not in that way.  Well… When I was in middle school, I spent a long stretch of time in the hospital. Not a big deal, and I’ve grown out of it.  But the television in the hospital kept playing this terrible television show the entire time. Maybe it was a marathon of some sort.  _Ally McBeal_ , it's sort of a lawyer show, but more like a soap opera.  But her boyfriend on the show… Larry Paul.  He was so smart, and really good looking.  I know it’s kind of lame, and most of my friends seem to crush on people closer to their own age, but there was just something about him. He used to make her breakfast in bed, and I just thought that was… So sweet and domestic, you know? In a good way.

I definitely saw that Discovery movie—I don’t think there’s anyone left who hasn’t.  But isn’t that astronaut sort of a jerk? He seemed way too hot-headed. I mean, if you like astronauts, what about that one in the sci fi movie, where they’re going to restart the sun?  He’s fictional, but it fits in with your Wonder Woman thing better, about doing the right thing.  He definitely stands for the greater good, and making sure things are done right, even at his own expense. If you haven’t seen it, you should look it up.

You know, these emails are the brightest part of my day.  Not that I don’t enjoy school and everything, but. Well.  I just thought you should know.

-Flying”

 

Tony couldn’t stop smiling as he read it.  Steve Rogers thought Tony was the best part of his day. 


	3. Chapter 3

Tony drove to the party. He could catch an uber home.  Although, if he was being honest with himself, he was hoping he might be able to make out with Steve until tomorrow. 

Rhodey was Lando Calrissian, and Pepper made a badass Han Solo.  Bruce was wearing some sort of leaf toga—Jolly Green Giant, he said. Nat was dressed like Elastigirl, spandex hugging her curves and a little bandit mask framing her pretty green eyes.  It made even more sense when they got to the party—Sam was Frozone and Steve was a tall, blushing, gorgeous Mr. Incredible. God, he was beautiful, even in spandex. Especially in spandex. Was that really his butt? His real pecs? Or did he have padding? Tony wanted to touch, to find out, just for science. 

“Guys, drinks in the kitchen, karaoke in the living room! Daaamn, Pepper, who you gonna use that whip on later?” Sam teased her, shooting finger guns at Natasha and high-fiving Rhodey. 

“You wish you knew,” Pepper told him, archly.

“What are you supposed to be?” he asked Tony, looking over his boxy suit and fake moustache. “And what’s with the metal bagel on a stick?”

“It’s a Tesla coil!” Tony said, indignantly.  “I’m Nikola Tesla!”

“The car guy?” Steve asked, but there was a glint in his eye. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Very funny, Steven,” Tony replied, repressing a reaction to giggle inanely.

Hammer showed up, too. As fucking Hugh Hefner, complete with a set of bunnies: Mya, Christine, and Lorraine.  What kind of a douche showed up trying to get with one girl by bringing three other girls in lingerie? Asshole.

Within minutes, Rhodey was busy killing all the high notes on a Queen track, Natasha had somehow gotten Bruce to dance, and Hammer had downed half a bottle of SoCo.   Sam was loudly telling a crowd about Steve’s inspirational speech at the cross country race, Steve blushing hard.

“I think it is so. Sexy. That you won invitationals, Steve,” Lorraine purred.  “Our school is so lucky to have you.”

“Oh, thanks,” Steve said. “But cross country is a team sport, even if we run individually.  It’s really Sam and T’Challa and the Peters. And Pete’s only a freshman. He’s going to be amazing as a senior, so much better than I am.  Shield is really lucky to have these guys.” He knocked Sam on the shoulder as he said it and Sam pretended to take a fall, staggering like Steve had really pushed him, then saluting him jokingly.

Tony wandered through the crowd, trying to psych himself up.  How would he tell Steve it was him? “Hey, Steve.  I’m Shell.” That did not sound right.  “Steve.  Hey, it’s me, I’m Shell.  Steve.  You’re Flying.” Oh God, it just got worse. Finally he just got himself together.  He scanned the party, some shitty pop song telling him to ball up, but Steve wasn’t there.  But he’d heard them talking about how often Steve crashed at Sam’s place. He always stayed in the corner room.  Okay. Okay, he could do this.  He was Tony Stark. 

He pushed open the door.  And found Steve.  Without the top half of his costume, pushed up against the wall by… Lorraine? Her hands were halfway down his pants and her tongue was more in his mouth than in hers, her corset completely unhooked and dangling from Steve’s hand.

Fuck.  It wasn’t Steve, after all.  Jesus. 

Steve looked over at him, startled, eyes wide.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I thought this was the bathroom,” Tony heard himself say. “Carry on, no glove no—"

“This room is occupied, Stark,” Lorraine said before resuming her activities.

Tony closed the door.  Ugh.  Where had he gone so wrong? He’d only seen what he wanted to see.  After all, how many guys had had a friend move away? How many guys didn’t want to disappoint their parents? Basically everyone, on some level.  Even Tony, himself, to some extent.  And who didn’t love Batman? He’d heard Clint go on a rant that lasted the entire lunch period about how Batman was way better than any other superhero, and his entire thesis was that “he could shoot better.” Not only inaccurate, but extremely long-winded.

Tony’d had a little buzz going, a little liquid courage to get up the nerve to come clean to Steve.  Now it was completely gone.  He’d never felt so sober.  And cold. He walked back into the family room where the karaoke was still going strong, now Natasha belting out Cher’s “Do You Believe” and Sam trying his best to provide some kind of badly misguided back up dancing, Bruce shuffling awkwardly at the corner of the stage.  He ran right into Hammer.

“Look.  Hammer, I’m just going to—” Tony started when Hammer puked his guts out, all over Tony’s jacket.

Jesus fuck.  He’d thought this had been a bad night already.  Tony didn’t even say anything, just took himself off to the actual bathroom, stripped his shirt and jacket and tossed them in the bathtub.  That’s where the worst of it was.  He ran the tub, swished them around with some body wash.  And some shampoo, just for good measure.  He didn’t want to be near anything that had even touched Justin Hammer, let alone already been inside his disgusting gut.  He fished out his shirt, rinsing it. He rummaged around under the sink, looking for a hair dryer. He ran the hair dryer halfheartedly over his shirt for a few minutes, until it was slightly less sopping wet.  Fuck it.  Good enough.  He put it back on, rolling the jacket into a ball, shuddering at the clammy touch of the cotton, but needing to get out of here, get home, get somewhere alone, where he could put this horrible disappointing night about of his mind.  Besides, someone was pounding on the bathroom door now, whining about having to pee. 

He drove home, silently, radio off.  The roads were dark, unlit, the sky barely illuminated by a sliver of a waning moon.  The stars were cold, distant, impeccably hard and far away. 

He let himself in, not wanting to wake Jarvis, who had still left him a snack on the counter—crackers, apple slices, and a dish of peanut butter.  His keys seemed too loud in the night, echoing off the hard surfaces.  A single light was on in the kitchen, just a small circle of light on the plate.  Jarvis, of course. 

The house was dark and empty, but not the comforting warmth of a haven.  It was a cave.  Devoid of comfort. Tony felt like a pinball, completely aimless. 

He wandered up to his room, brushed his teeth, took a quick shower—scrubbing Hammer off of him.  He settled into bed, grabbed his laptop, and opened his email.

“Flying,

Sometimes I feel like I’m all alone in the world.  I have great friends, don’t get me wrong. They’re the best.  Really. Like I said, they’re great. We’re basically Harry, Ron, and Hermione, lay down our lives for each other type shit.  And my mom tries her best.  It’s just been so long since we’ve had a real conversation, one where she was completely paying attention, and where she just—like, just really wanted to hear what I was saying, or—Christ, just how my day was.  Just stupid shit like if I got a good grade on a test or something.

I’m sure you can tell, my relationship with my dad isn’t great.  It’s been so long that I’ve basically given up on him.  The days when I don’t see him are good days.  But it’s been so many days, now. I think we talked before school started, but maybe not since then.  I stay out of his way, for the most part. And it’s good.  But sometimes I wish he’d yell at me, just so I’d know he was paying attention.  I know that sounds fucked up.  I know that *is* fucked up.

My house is just really empty, is all.  And we’re all home.

Don’t get me wrong.  I know how lucky I am.  We go to a great school. I’ve got a great future. I have a house, and food, and clothes, and money, and a new phone, and a computer… I’ve got it all.  I’m lucky. I am. 

So I guess, why am I telling you this? Well, your emails are the best part of my day, too.  Every day.

Shell.”

Clicking send, Tony locked his phone and drifted off to sleep.

 

“Shell, it’s like four am right now. I guess you can see that from the time stamp. I just wanted… well, I checked my email, because I was hoping I’d hear from you. Not a specific reason, just wanted to hear your voice. You know what I mean. 

I’m sorry, Shell.  I wish I could make it better for you.  I wish it weren’t so hard for you.  I guess, I mean it’s late, and I’ve just been listening to music for a while, a mix of everything that’s on that college channel.  But now, I guess, there’s a line from this one song that I wish you could feel: “Believe your voice can mean something.” I know, it’s an old song. Just, you’re important to me.  I guess that’s what I mean. 

And I know what you mean, about feeling alone.  I do.  So, I just want you to know, if you need me, I’m here for you.

-Flying”

\--


	4. Chapter 4

Tony was watching the road, driving cautiously.  Thinking about Flying’s last email. They’d been emailing for weeks now.  And Tony knew so much about him—he wasn’t really into cars but wanted to save up money for a motorcycle.  He wanted intensely to get scholarships to go to school so it didn’t end up costing his family.  He’d taken the SAT three times to make sure he scored over 1500. He played a sport, liked reading, and couldn’t stand country music.  He loved Harry Potter and hated the Divergent series.  He missed his best friend so badly it hurt, and the guy had never sent a forwarding address.  He was funny, and smart.  He played chess but wasn’t on the chess team. He was fundamentally kind, good, like Sam.  He cried watching Up, wondering if he’d ever find that kind of love.  He knew everything about this guy except what he looked like.  Tony had tried picturing him, but it never worked. 

Tony’d written when he got an A on a quiz.  Flying had congratulated him. Like he meant it.  Like he was proud of him. 

In the last email, he’d told Tony that his mother was dead, had died a few years ago. The way that he missed her was palpable, even through email.  And he wished that he could have told her that he was gay, before she died, that he wished he could have shared that part of himself with her.  That he wished he were that brave.

“So,” Natasha said. 

Tony looked at her, briefly, then back at the road.  They were driving to the first big competition, Tony had the robot loaded up and was preparing to drive alone when Natasha had swung her backpack into the back and climbed into the passenger seat.

She stayed quiet, looking at him expectantly.

“What?” Tony asked.

“You tell me,” she challenged. 

“What are you talking about?”

She just raised an eyebrow at him, popping her gum. 

“Wait, no, seriously, what are you talking about?” Tony asked again.

“Hammer.” Her expression didn’t change.  It wasn’t gossipy or judgmental, just expectant.

How did she know? Or, what did she know?

“He’s got something on you.  So. What’s the deal you made?”

“The deal? Not the secret?” Tony’s heart was hammering and he thought he might vomit, his knuckles white where he was gripping the steering wheel.

Natasha shrugged.  “You’ve got a secret. We’ve all got secrets.” She looked down for a second, at her hands. “Yours is one you need to protect.  From your family.  You don’t need to tell me. But you can, if you want.”

Tony looked at her wide-eyed.  Fuck it.  He pulled over, making some asshole behind him honk at him. The van pulled to a stop in the shoulder. 

Natasha’s eyes never left his.

“I thought—I thought I could do it, string him along, until I’m eighteen, or until some new girl came along. My father, I—he, I didn’t think you’d…” Christ, it sounded bad, even worse when he said it out loud, trade Natasha for his secrets. 

“You’re supposed to help him get with me, until you can move out.” She summed it up quickly.

Tony banged his head on the steering wheel, miserably. “I’m sorry, Natasha.  I’m so sorry. I was never going to let it get too far, always make sure it was a group setting… I just. I can’t.  If my father, if he… I’d never let Hammer do anything to you, though, I just thought I could play it so he’d feel like he was getting somewhere until he got bored.” He couldn’t look at her.  What kind of a man trades on someone else’s body?

Natasha touched his shoulder lightly. “Don’t do that to yourself, Tony. I know you wouldn’t have.  And besides, I can take care of myself.” He looked up at her.  She looked thoughtful. Calculating. “Okay.  So, we have to make sure I’m flirty, just a little, slow.  Play it like an ice queen opening up, so he’s never frustrated and always thinks he’s making progress.”

Tony resisted the urge to bang his head on the steering wheel again. “It’s so not fair to you, though. What if you want to date someone? Not to mention you’d have to be in Hammer’s presence again and the slimebucket gives me the creeps just by existing!”

She smiled a little.  “He is sort of the worst. But I’m not looking to start dating someone.  I have a boyfriend.”

“You have a boyfriend?” Tony almost shouted.  How did she hide that? Was she dating Sam?

Natasha looked a little troubled. “I mean, we were dating. Before I moved.  We still are.  I just didn’t get to say goodbye, really.  It’s complicated. He’s actually from Brooklyn, originally.”

Tony’s head was spinning.  “Where _exactly_ did you move from?”

Natasha smiled, thinly.  “I’ve spent time in a lot of places.  Europe, mostly.”

_Oookay._ That wasn’t particularly exact.

“Look,” she redirected. “We can do it. We can manage Hammer. I’m not going to really flirt with him. That’s unfair, even to scum.  I’ll just be friendly. Normal friendly.  But I think it will be enough. And in the meantime, I’ll help you move your assets out of Howard’s control into your own name.  I’m pretty good with banking and property law.” She said it as if she were talking about the weather, normal conversational topics for a teen.

“How do you even…” Tony trailed off.

She smiled, wryly.  “I’ve picked up a number of talents over the years.  It comes in handy.”

Natasha’s reaction was so steady.  He could trust her.  He could.  He hadn’t known her that long, but she would keep his secrets. 

He thought about Flying.  How he wished he were brave enough to tell his mother.  How he made Tony want to be brave, too. He took a deep breath, gagged, steadied himself. She didn’t say anything.  Tony tried again, tried to make the words come up, words he’d never actually said out loud before. They wanted to stay, threatened to close his throat, tried to make a molten lump in his stomach, stay hidden. He choked, once, swallowed, and then: “I’m gay.”

“That’s the…?”

“Yeah.”

“And Howard—”

“It’ll be ugly.”

“Okay. Well.  Now you’ve got me. And you’re going to be okay. We’ll make sure of it.”

She turned back in her seat and started jotting down notes in her phone about legal codes and forms.  Tony’d seen a few of them before.  She was starting on separating assets already.  Jesus.  Who was this girl?

Tony took a deep breath and put his blinker on.  As he merged back into traffic, he felt Natasha’s small hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.  Maybe he _would_ be okay. 

\--

After the competition, which they lost by three points when Hammer grabbed the remote control from Bruce and navigated the robot squarely into a wall (Natasha didn't even _look_ like she was thinking about kicking Hammer through a wall, so clearly she was acting on Tony's behalf), Tony was still elated.  The feeling of freedom, from telling Natasha, from being brave, he couldn’t contain it. 

“Dear Flying,

You made me a better person today. Wait, I know what you’re thinking, we’ve never even met.  But you were talking about how you wanted to be brave, to tell your mother, if she were around.  Well.  I was thinking about it today and—long story, lots of drama, nothing to concern your pretty little head about—I told someone.  I told a friend.  God, I feel like, I feel amazing. I feel like I’m invincible. I can do anything. Sure, anything except come out or tell my parents or understand what the hell Mrs. Lewis is talking about in terms of the ‘unexpected theme analysis’ of Shakespeare, but anything.  I’m a modern marvel. So.  Again. To recap: you inspired me. 

So, thanks. 

Love, Shell.”

Fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. He signed it love.  What the fuck? How did one get gmail to retract an email? Was it really electronic? Shit.  Shit.  Flying was never going to talk to him again.  Tony would have scared him off, so thoughtlessly, from the sheer ebullience he was feeling about coming out.  He put his head down on his desk, wishing he could invent a time machine—not even a very good time machine, he didn’t want to go back in time and punch Hitler or get Galileo to stand fast in the face of the papal inquiry—he just wanted to erase the last two minutes!   Christ, this was his life. He had one good thing, a great thing, and then this. 

His computer pinged. 

A new message.

With trepidation, he reached out a shaking hand and opened it.

“Dear Shell,

I’m so incredibly proud of you! I can’t even find the words to tell you how amazing you are.  You’re so brave.  I wish I could be more like you.  Maybe I’ll find a way to get there. I might move a little slower than you do, but you’re inspiring to me, too.  I’m so so proud of you!

Flying

P.S. She just means to think of a new way to understand or analyze one of the plays.  Like how _Hamlet_ is really about Hamlet being gay. Or how _Othello_ is really about systemic racial bias rather than about jealousy for the relationship. Or the way that _Macbeth_ is about men ensuring that women never hold power.  Don’t stress—you’ll be fine.  If you want to hash out your ideas, just let me know.  I’m here for you.”

Tony immediately wrote back:

“Shut the fuck up.  I mean, I get what you’re saying about Macbeth (witches, lady Macbeth) and about Othello. But Hamlet isn’t gay! I’d know!” Send.

Fuck.  Fuck that sounded harsh in retrospect. Email didn’t account for tone.

Quickly, he sent a new message.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean for it to sound rude.  But, jesus, I’d definitely know if Hamlet was gay, right?”

Okay. Okay, that was fine, he didn’t sound like such an asshole. 

His inbox lit up again.

“Haha, it’s okay, Shell, I didn’t think you were rude.

But think about it. The big picture.  Doesn’t everything all fall into place if Hamlet is gay?”

Tony read it quickly.  Sure, Ophelia.  Gertrude has to get remarried real quick while she’s still able to produce an heir… Horatio… Holy fuck. 

“Shit.  You’re right.  Jesus.  Does the rest of the world know they’re reading a gay soap opera?”

His email lit up almost immediately.

“:-) I won't tell if you won't."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, went with pieter instead of traditional pietro. sorry.

Tony was lying on his bed, fiddling with a panel of resistors.  Just before Thanksgiving break, Natasha had edited Hammer’s English paper for him.  Of course, she’d also taken a look at Tony’s, adding a number of snarky notes on his analysis of “Daddy Issues in _King Lear_ ,” and Bruce’s (“Shakespearean Reference to Scientific Developments”). He had never been more grateful for whatever luck that plopped her squarely in his high school for his senior year.  His email pinged.

“Dear Shell,

I know you said you don’t have plans for Thanksgiving.  What with your family and all.  And I just wanted to let you know that I am around.  We don’t have a lot of extended family, so we usually just roast a chicken and call it a day.  But I’ll be thinking about you.

I think about you a lot.

Love, Flying”

Tony blushed, looking at the screen.  Jesus.  He was blushing from reading words.  Just words.  Not even porn or anything, just knowing that Flying thought about him.  “a lot.” And he signed it, “Love.” 

Was this what love felt like? The flutters and the hope and the intense feeling that good things could happen? Tony smiled as he flopped back in bed.  His parents had gone to Mallorca for Thanksgiving, so he’d be on his own. He was inspired.  Fuck it.  If this was what love felt like, he wanted to share.  He ran down and talked to Jarvis, then started a group text.

From: Tony 10:32am

To:  A-Team

Second Thanksgiving at my house, 8pm.  Just bring yourselves! Oh, and someone tell the Maximoff twins, would you?

 

From: Rhodeybear 10:32am

To:  A-Team

Dude, they live literally next door to you.  Ask them yourself.

 

From: Steeb 10:34am

To:  A-Team

Tony, I can send you their number if you want? They’re great.

 

From: SamIAm 10:34am

To:  A-Team

Goddammit Steve, he can walk the three feet from his door to theirs.

 

From: Tony 10:35am

To:  A-Team

Excuse me, Wilson, but the Stark estate is huge. It’s three or four miles to the nearest house. I can’t possibly walk that far in time.

 

From: Rhodeybear 10:35am

To:  A-Team

Tony, it’s like fifty feet from your front door to theirs. I’ve literally walked it before when I had to return that water bottle to Pieter.  It took less than a minute.

 

From:  Rhodeybear 10:37am

To:  A-Team

Steve, do not text them for him. He’s a big boy. He’s learning new skills.

 

From: Rhodeybear 10:38am

To:  A-Team

Dammit, Steve.  Wilson, DO NOT let him do it!

 

From: SamIAm 10:38am

To:  A-Team

I got you covered, Jim.

 

From: Steeb 10:39am

To:  A-Team

I just thought if Tony was busy, I could take care of it.  It’s not a big deal guys.  I don’t mind.

 

From: Pep 10:39am

To:  A-Team

That’s very sweet, Steve, but in this case, James is actually right.  Tony needs to know how to do this sort of thing on his own. 

 

From: Steeb 10:40am

To:  A-Team

Okay, I won’t.

 

From: Tony 10:41am

To:  A-Team

Goddamnit, guys!

 

From: Rhodeybear 10:42am

To:  A-Team

SMDH

 

From: Rhodeybear 10:42am

To:  A-Team

It’s called tough love, Tony.

 

From: Tony 10:43am

To:  A-Team

Whatever, assholes.  Show up at 8.  Even though you don’t deserve it. 

 

From: Brucie 10:43am

To:  A-Team

So… Nat, I’ll pick you up?

 

From: Nat 10:44am

To: A-Team

Thumbs up emoji

 

Tony pulled on a coat and walked over to the Maximoff’s house.  It took 48 seconds, not that he was counting. The house looked pretty dark when he got there. Maybe they weren’t home.  He rang the bell, and it sounded, a tiny little tinkling noise that was incongruous with the heavy construction of the house. 

“Stark? What’s up?” Pieter asked, opening the door almost before the bell had stopped ringing. 

“Jesus, were you hanging out right inside?”

Wanda came forward in the dim hallway.  “He’s just really fast.  Always running.  What’s up?” she echoed.

“Well, um, I was just thinking that we’re neighbors, and well, I didn’t know what kind of traditions you have for Thanksgiving, but I’m having some friends over at eight to have a second Thanksgiving, more of a friendsgiving, except that’s a totally lame name for it, but whatever, it’s kind of what it is, but there won’t be any turkey, anyway, if you want to come over you can,” Tony rambled, not taking a breath.

They looked at each other for a second.  “Yeah, that’s really nice of you, Stark,” Pieter said for both of them. 

Tony winced.  He really did hate it when people called him that.  “Could you maybe just call me Tony, then?”

Wanda broke out in a little smile. She didn’t smile all that often, really.  “Sure, Tony.  And thanks. Can we bring anything?”

Tony shook his head.  “Nah, J’s got everything covered.  Just come over at eight.” He walked off, stuffing his hands down into his pockets. 

 

Of course, Pepper arrived first, carrying a pumpkin pie. 

“When the hell did you make a pie?” Tony asked. 

Pepper handed the pie to Jarvis, then took off her coat and matching gloves. “Last week.  I freeze them, so there’s always a few lying around in case there’s an unexpected party.” She grinned, obviously pleased with herself.  “Jim went to pick up Sam and Steve, and Natasha and Bruce were right behind me.”

The door opened and Rhodey walked in, while Sam loudly griped about “This asshole, who brings something and makes the rest of us fuckers look bad,” but he was smiling as he said it, fake punching Steve’s shoulder. 

“It’s just cranberry sauce,” Steve said, blushing a little.  “It’s an old German recipe, so it’s kind of different.  It has dried cherries in it, and it’s basically good on everything.” 

“I love me a man who can cook,” Sam said, yoking his arm around Steve’s neck.  Then he rapped his knuckles on Steve’s head.  “But we all know it ain’t you—this is all Abe, man.”

Steve handed the bowl off to Jarvis.

“I hope it doesn’t piss you off, Sam, but we brought cookies, too,” Pieter chimed in, holding a platter of chocolate chip cookies.  “We were taught it’s bad manners to show up empty handed. Got that pretty well-burned into our brains.”

Wanda followed close behind him.  “Besides, this is our mom’s recipe.  She taught Pietro when he was little. He does okay.”

Cookies? Tony did a double-take internally. Not that he was going to flutter every time someone said cookies, surely there were tons of guys who learned how to bake cookies, right? From their moms? With their possibly awkward parent situation?  What did he know about the Maximoff parents, anyway? When was the last time he’d seen them? He remembered a guy walking out of the house, old enough to be a dad, surely. He hadn’t really gotten the dad vibe from the guy, though. Uncle maybe. And they were new to the area.  Tony was pretty sure that they were recent immigrants, roots somewhere in Eastern Europe. Did that account for the guilt that Flying felt about coming out and causing trouble? Because his parents had already given up their homeland to ensure a better future for Pieter?  And sure, he could have spent time in the hospital in middle school—and Tony would have no way to know. And how ironic would it be to have the guy he was crushing on—at least—living next door? 

Natasha nudged him with her elbow.  She must have arrived sometime during the time when Tony’s brain was lost in a wormhole of trying to figure out if Flying and Pieter were the same person. 

She raised an eyebrow at him, clearly understanding at least some of what he was thinking. She didn’t know about the whole story, but she obviously read the hormones Tony was thinking about throwing.  “Him?”

“Um, I’m not sure, it could be? I mean, he might? I might, if he, I might…” Tony blabbered.  “This isn’t really my—”

Natasha cut him off.  “Relax.  You’re Tony Stark.  If he swings that way, he at least thinks you’re cute.”

Tony groaned and knocked his head against a helpfully nearby wall.

Natasha shoved him gently toward the family room.  “You’ll be fine. Big baby.” 

Tony turned and shuffled into the room ahead of her, nerves jangling. Did he think Pieter was cute? He was.  A little scruffy, thin runners build—part of the cross country team, like Steve and Sam.  A vague hint of an accent somewhere, adding a layer of mystery. 

Bruce was getting out some teacups from a sideboard; he gave Tony a small wave, not wanting to interrupt the conversation already going in the room.

“—really wasn’t going to go out for cross country before that, so full confessions here, Steve’s the reason I’m off running so much,” Pieter was telling his sister. 

Steve was looking at him sort of quizzically.  “I don’t understand.  How did we get from you wanting to play chess to being on the cross country team?” he asked, genuinely confused. 

“Pietro, I’m your twin, and I still don’t have any idea what you’re saying either,” Wanda said.

“I have to lay it all out for you?  Don’t you remember when we first showed up at Shield High?”

Wanda let out a breath that carried an unspoken expletive. “Difficult times.”

“Right, and I wanted to play chess on those tables outside at lunch.  We learned, at home.  Justin Hammer told me it was his club and he wasn’t letting some scrawny Soviet rat get his dirty hands all over the chess sets.”

“Fucking Hammer,” Rhodey muttered.

Steve’s eyes widened, clearly remembering the incident.  “Oh, really? I didn’t know, that’s—but you’re such a great runner! We’re lucky to have you!”

“Wait, what?” Tony asked. 

Pepper scrunched up her nose the way she did when she couldn’t puzzle something out. “I still don’t understand.”

Steve blushed, “It’s no big deal,” he started, but Sam jumped in for him.

“Man, I remember this, I got you, Pieter.  So my boy steps up to Hammer’s ugly mug, tells him to do his homework, and that the game isn’t American but started in India and that most of the grandmasters have been Eastern European anyway, Russian included. Then he goes to the library, checks out the decades old chess set that I swear to god was covered in an inch and a half of dust, claims a new table and he crushes Pieter in an epic game of speed chess.”

“I didn’t—” Steve started at the same time as Pieter said, “I wouldn’t say _crushed._ ”

“Smoked him, man,” Sam teased them both. “Hammer couldn’tve destroyed him any quicker.” He grinned back at Steve.  “And then Cap here says, ‘Hey, Sam and I are going for a run after school, want to come along?’ with those goddamn puppy eyes we all know nobody can resist!”

“Finally a mystery solved,” Wanda said, winking at Sam.  “He was always saying how he wasn’t into organized sporting teams until one day he came home with a pair of racing flats.” 

So.  Pieter played chess.

And possibly had a little crush on Steve. 

Well, Steve was straight, but at least Tony could understand.  He had good taste, was all.  Great taste, actually.  And he could see how a little bit of hero-worship could totally turn into a crush.  But at least Steve wouldn’t actually be competition.  For Tony.  If Pieter was actually who Tony thought he was.  Because he was, right? It made sense.  The cookies, the sport, the chess, the last year of school… maybe he learned to adopt that American accent by watching _Ally McBeal_ episodes in the hospital. 

Tony looked over at him again out of the corner of his eye.  He was cute.  But more than that, if this was Flying, he knew him.  He knew the person inside.  And that was what mattered, even if he hadn’t been cute.  A bubble of excitement gurgled up in his stomach and he suppressed another inane desire to giggle like a kid.  He’d found him.  He’d found him, they could meet in person, he could maybe kiss him, maybe just be known and know each other. 

They ate sandwiches and played games for hours.  They’d ruled out Pictionary, since Steve could sketch anything incredibly quickly, and charades, since the Maximoffs’ pop culture had some pretty big gaps.  Tony always always won at Jenga, and Pepper could out-scrabble anyone. Natasha couldn’t be stopped at Clue, Steve and Rhodey alternated winning at Risk, and Wanda was so inscrutable that she could be holding a royal flush or a bunch of nonsense face cards and no one would ever know the difference.  Tony’s phone was in his pocket the whole night. A test.  If he got an email when he had an eye on Pieter, it wasn’t him. He wasn’t about to come out with it the way he had when he’d thought it was Steve.  He’d learned. But also, it wasn’t like he could just ask, _hey, Pieter, did your mother die when you were young?_ Or _So, Up? Make anyone else here feel like crying?_

Finally, as Wanda demurely slid all the tootsiepops into her giant hoard, flipping over a two of diamonds, a six of hearts, and a ten of clubs, they all surrendered.  She shared, though, and that’s what mattered, opening a raspberry flavored lollipop while they tried to figure out what movie to put on. 

The movies clinched it.  Tony knew it was Peter.  Flying was definitely Pieter.  Pieter, who saw _Sunshine_ in Tony’s “Netflix recommends” list and demanded that they watch it immediately, since it was a completely awesome and underrated movie, and high-fived Bruce and Steve when they said they’d seen it too, even if Bruce felt that there were some major scientific inaccuracies.  _Sunshine_.  Which was totally the movie that Flying had mentioned earlier, the astronaut in that one movie about restarting the sun.  And Pieter wasn’t wrong, the astronaut was damn hot. 

\--

“Flying,   
I have great friends, and I had a great day today.  I almost wish you were one of my friends already, because they are all so great.  And I’ve been having that song from Capital Cities running through my head all day—‘One Minute More.’ So.” Tony took a deep breath.  “I think I might know who you are. Do you have a sister?

Love, Shell”

He hit send, then let out the breath he’d been holding.  It was risky. But if it was Pieter, if it was, then it was perfect. It would be so easy.  It would be… like magic, if Tony believed in that sort of thing. 

\--


	6. Chapter 6

He checked his email at 9am. He got to sleep in, his parents were gone, no one cared what he did, and he’d had a late night. 

“Shell,

I don’t have a sister. I don’t have any siblings. I’m not who you think I am.  I’m sorry.  I hope you’re not disappointed.

Flying”

Tony’s stomach flipped over.  Okay.  Not Pieter. Okay. That was okay.  In retrospect, he wasn’t all that cute anyway.  It was almost as if imbuing Pieter with the qualities he knew that Flying had, that’s what made him attractive.  But Christ, he’d been so sure.  It had all matched up so well. 

But it was fine, really, he liked talking to Flying through email. They were still the best part of his day.  And, yes, if he was honest, he felt this connection deeply.  To his bones.  It was almost as if he was able to get to know Flying so well _because_ they weren’t talking face to face, where Tony knew he tended to be flippant, and slick, and smart.  Where he never let anyone see how he might be vulnerable.  Sure, yes, his closest friends knew, but it had taken a long time to get to that point.  He’d grown up with Pepper and Rhodey since they were all in matching diapers. 

His phone pinged, and Tony’s heart rate sped up in a pavlovian response.  It was a text.  Fuck.  Then his heartrate really did speed up.  It was from Hammer.

“I’m running out of patience.”

That’s all.  What an asshole.  Tony took stock:

Natasha had the paperwork in motion to separate his assets.  They were at a lawyer that she somehow knew, Murdock.  His parents were out of town. That would give him a little bit of a breather. Even Howard couldn’t magically teleport here and beat the shit out of him without accounting for physics. That would give him the better part of a day. And that’s only if it made a major news outlet, not the little gossip site that served as a school rumor mill.  After all, yesterday it had hosted a post that said T’Challa was a Black Panther trying to bring down American society from within.  Idiots.

He sent off a text to Natasha: “Let’s get out of this game sooner. Not an emergency, but ASAP.” It was innocuous enough that she could play it off in a number of different ways if someone else saw it, but she’d know exactly what he meant. 

Nat sent out a text almost immediately—Hammer, Tony, Pepper, Steve, Sam, Rhodey… Picking up some last minute community service wrapping presents at the mall for Black Friday.  She brought everyone a coffee, handing them all out personally, including one for Hammer.  She instructed them on proper wrapping technique, folding all the edges under.  Steve was the best at it, all of his edges perfect and neat, but she helped Hammer more than the rest of them.  Of course, that was also because he was sloppy and lazy, but still.  It did end up with him getting more attention, so the beast was kept at bay. Tony was exhausted when he got home, and sporting three paper cuts.

\--

“Shell,

I haven’t heard back from you.  I’m hoping you’re not disappointed.  If you are… I’m so sorry. Truly.

I just wanted to tell you that I had a good day today. A great day, really.  And I don’t want to get into specifics, especially if you are feeling low. But I think I have a lead on my best friend who I lost, Bucky, and I just wanted to share that feeling of happiness with you. 

Sometimes, if I have a really hard day or a really good day—I know that doesn’t make a lot of sense, that it’s both—I go to this place in Central Park.  I can see the bridge from it and it’s beautiful. It’s always beautiful. And it makes me feel like there’s something there, something that will always be there, that I’ll always have.  Somewhere that I’ll always have.  My life has been through a lot of changes, and it’s nice to have a constant.  I went there today, and I just thought that it would be so nice if you could have that feeling too.  Is there anything like that for you?

Love,

Flying”

Tony read the email, almost wistful.  Was there something like that for him?  It had been a difficult week. He’d gone with Nat every day to see the lawyer, Murdock, who seemed intense.  But he needed intense. He needed the help.  And it wouldn’t be too long, now, until he would be out of danger. 

“Flying,

I’m not disappointed. Or, I was, a little.  I guess I just wanted it to be you, not because of who he was, but because I thought it’d be nice to be with you, in person. Not be with you, but be with you. You know what I mean. 

So did you ever have a crush on your best friend? I haven’t, I don’t know why. Just wondering.” That was casual right? That didn’t sound worried?  Totally casual. Just dropped in. 

“I do have a place like that. Or, it’s a place where everything makes sense.  Where I can just be me. It’s not perfect, it’s at home, and there’s always a danger that my dad will walk in and yell at me, but in that room, it’s my own space. 

I’m glad you had a good day.  I’m getting there.  And I’m sorry about the email thing, I was super busy, but I wasn’t disappointed.

Love,

Shell”

 

Tony reread the email.  That didn’t sound like he was jealous, right? Right.  Not at all.  He took out the question.  Then wrote it back in.  Then took it out.  Fuck it.  Fuck it, he wrote it back in, it was fine, it was totally cool, even if Flying never really exactly said he _like_ liked Tony.  But the guy signed his name “love” and that had to mean something, right?  He hit send and tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk.  It wasn’t like he was going to get an immediate response. He felt antsy. 

Pulling on a hoodie, Tony grabbed his keys and texted Rhodey.  He was waiting for him when Tony arrived, cramming a granola bar in his face. 

“What do you need this time?” Rhodey asked through the granola bar.

“Only you, gumdrop,” Tony smirked at him.

Rhodey balled up his wrapper and threw it at Tony’s head, bouncing off by his legs. Asshole had good aim. “From the electronics store, goofball,” Rhodey clarified, working bits of granola out of his teeth. 

“Oh, a new project,” Tony said, waving his hands airily.  It wasn’t exactly true, he didn’t have an idea, but he would, after he found a few parts. That always sparked an idea.  He parked at Morita’s electronics.  It was tiny, but it stocked some weird parts that was difficult to get anywhere else. Mr. Morita would always smile secretively and say it was because of his Yakuza connections.  He was clearly joking, they’d been living in Fresno for three generations before they moved to New York, and Tony’d never met a more church-going family.  Mr. Morita just liked to joke around. 

The bell pinged as Rhodey held the door open for Tony, sweeping his arm in front of him as if Tony were a princess. 

“Tony!” Mr. Morita exclaimed excitedly.  “You’ll never believe what I got in yesterday! Jimmy—go get that little box I put on the coffee table,” he ordered the kid in the back.  “Jimmy just finished his last college applications,” he confided in the boys.  “Says he wants to get a scholarship so I don’t need to pay for him to go to school.  I told him I didn’t mind, I’d handle it, but he wants to make sure he doesn’t have to ask.  He’s such a good son.”

Jimmy heard the tail end of the conversation when he came back with the little box.  He rolled his eyes.  “Dad, if you’re going to pay for me to take the SAT three times, I better have something to show for it, right? Hey Tony, Other Jim.”

“Hey man,” Rhodey said. “How have I never seen you working here before? I swear we’re in here like three times a week.”

“You know each other?” Tony asked. 

“Yeah, we’ve got Mr. Phillips’ history class and Dr. Selvig’s AP physics together. You were in Selvig’s at the beginning of the year, right?”

“Tony had to drop, already knew the whole curriculum,” Rhodey volunteered before Tony elbowed him in the ribs.  “Dude, Tony, it’s cool!”

“That _is_ really cool,” Jim said. “You must be crazy smart.”

“Still a dumbass though,” Rhodey said.  “Sorry, Mr. Morita.”

Mr. Morita just chuckled.  “We like smart people in this family. Speaking of which, this is totally new.  It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. I can’t even tell you exactly what it is. But you’ll like it.” He popped open the box Jim had brought over.  It was a thick, heavy disc, dull silver. 

“What is it? Never mind, you just said. Sorry. What does it do?”

Mr. Morita shrugged. “I have no idea. But it was super expensive.”

Tony flipped it over in his hands.  It felt different. It moved differently. “I’ll take it. Just charge the account.” He grinned.  It was… interesting. Even if all he did was flatten it out into a frisbee for Rhodey.

“My best customer,” Mr. Morita smiled at him.  “What would I do without Tony Stark?”

Tony blushed a little.  Mr. Morita was the best. The nicest to him.  “I wouldn’t have any cool toys without you, Mr. Morita.  I’ll show you what I make this little baby into.  When I figure it out.”

Mr. Morita patted him on the shoulder.  “I bet you make your dad so proud.  We’re always so invested in our sons.” He shook his head, a little misty-eyed.  “I’m going to miss this one when he leaves me next year.” He canted his head toward Jimmy.  “It’s been just the two of us for so long.  I’ll be an empty nester.  Gotta take up golf and start raising chickens.”

Jimmy snorted at him.  “Sure, pop.” He rolled his eyes a little, but it was good natured. 

“No more carting you to swim meets, no more practice SATs… Maybe I’ll take up quilting, send you some blankets in college.” Mr. Morita messed up Jimmy’s hair, then turned back to Tony.  “You boys get going.  Make sure you show me what it turns into, now, and make sure it doesn’t go all Terminator on us.” He winked at Tony and waved them toward the door. 

“See you guys at school.” Jimmy waved, moving back to stand next to his father. 

Rhodey shook his head, getting in the car. “That’s like the nicest kid.  I dunno what it is, maybe going to church on the regular, but he’s seriously just the nicest.  Like, you remember little Pete, on the cross country team with Sam and Steve? He transferred into our physics class like three weeks late, the wrong placement or something, and Jimmy just up and gives him copies of all his notes.  Just walks right up, says Steve was worried about the rookie on the team and pulled in a favor.  And the dude’s handwriting is like, perfect.”

Something Jimmy had said caught in Tony’s brain.  The SAT? Three times?  But he’d been so sure last time, about Pieter. He’d just have to wait this one out. 

Rhodey’s phone beeped at the same time as Tony’s vibrated in his pocket.  “Is it both of us? Read it to me, sugarbeet.”

Rhodey swiped his phone open.  “It’s Pepper.  She says we should meet up to do our Christmas exchange, and she wants to bring in the new girl.”

“Of course Natasha should be part of it.” Tony looked over, nose scrunched up.  “She’s not that new anymore.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes on him, the big drama queen.  “Not Natasha, Peggy.  The new new girl.”

“Who?”

“Tones, seriously, you haven’t noticed?  She got here like, two days ago.  The English girl?  She is so goddamn hot. I mean, she can totally kick my ass, I’m sure of it, but like, yeah, I could be into that.”

Tony thought back.  He did remember seeing a new girl, flipping off a wolf-whistler across the cafeteria.  “Oh, right, totally. She’s super hot,” he tried to gush.  “That, um, that accent, that’s really…” he trailed off.

“Dude, aren’t you practically official with Natasha now? Cut the rest of us a break, man,” Rhodey griped at him.

Tony’s brain reset.  “Oh, well. I just meant, she was hot in the general sense.  Like, she’s very pretty. You totally have a chance with her,” he amended. 

Rhodey side-eyed him hard.  “Uh-huh.  Had to make it weird.  Besides, she’s been hanging pretty close to Steve.”

“Can’t blame h—him,” Tony caught himself at the last minute.  They would make a cute couple though.  Have gorgeous, sparkly-eyed babies.  “Does Pep want us to head over now? To her place?”

“Sam’s house,” Rhodey said, checking his texts.  “Yeah, now.”

Tony took a left on Peach Street, heading toward Sam’s.  “How is Sam’s house the new hangout?” he wondered out loud.

“Pepper’s dad banned you after you drank all the good scotch,” Rhodey pointed out.

“Just once!” Tony insisted.

“Steve lives out in the middle of nowhere.  I have no idea where Nat lives, and my pops says you don’t get to come back until you replace that hydrangea.”

“I gave you money to get a new one,” Tony started.

Rhodey grinned. “I bought an Xbox.” 

“You’re such an ass.  You have an Xbox and I can’t even come over to play it with you!”

Rhodey just smirked at him.  “You have two of them in your bedroom, Tony. You don’t need to come play at my house.” 

That was a fair point.  Still.  “You’re still a jerk.” He turned into Sam’s driveway while Rhodey was chuckling to himself. 

Pepper was already there, no surprise, and she’d picked up Bruce on the way.  Natasha was perched in an armchair, flipping index cards in some sort of fancy David Bowie-esque move. She gave Tony a significant look and slipped him a packet of papers to sign inside a slim black notebook.  Steve came out of the kitchen with a beautiful brunette. 

“You must be Tony,” she said, sounding extremely posh. “I’m so pleased to meet you.  Steve has said only very nice things about you. Hello, James.  Lovely to see you again.”

Rhodey choked a little on nothing, then sputtered, “Yeah, yeah, you too, lovely again.”

Tony made an effort not to roll his eyes.  “And you must be Peggy.  Great to meet you.”

Pepper uncapped a pen.  “Great, glad you made it, Tony.  Peggy, you don’t have to play if you don’t want to, but you’re absolutely welcome to join us. I know you’re hanging out with these two a lot, anyway,” she nodded her head toward Steve and Sam. 

“Oh, I’m very excited to play,” Peggy said, eyes twinkling.  She had a take-charge, roll with the punches sort of attitude.  God help the world if Pepper and Peggy ever decided to team up against it.  Tony was pretty sure they could reorder the entire planet if they put their mind to it, while painting their nails and sipping on lattes—er, tea. 

“Perfect,” Pepper said, a pleased smile on her face. “So, these lumps already know the rules: we draw random names. If you get your own, just put it back. No cheating—last year Tony tried to put mine back in the hat because he was trying for Bruce.”

“Bruce would have liked the bunny!” Tony insisted. “He would have appreciated it!”

“Bruce wouldn’t have liked the bunny, the bunny was gigantic and definitely not hand-made. It violated the rules,” Bruce told him, as he had many times already.

“They’re really more suggestions,” Tony tried.

“They’re completely not suggestions,” Steve told him, for the hundredth time. 

“They’re not,” Pepper chimed in. “They’re really not.  The rules are the rules. The rules say the gift has to be handmade. No buying a pair of Jimmy Choos.” She looked hard at Tony.

“Jimmy Choos are handmade!” Tony defended himself.

Pepper sighed. “Handmade by the gifter. You have to make your own gift.”

“I’m sure Tony wins every year,” Peggy said. “Aren’t you something of an inventing genius?”

Tony preened a little.  “I am, actually.  And yes, I do.”

“It ain’t a competition, man,” Sam reminded him.

“It is, and I win,” Tony declared. “And I’m glad that Peggy recognizes that.”

Pepper just sighed again, not quite rolling her eyes. “It really isn’t,” she told Peggy. “Everyone write your name on an index card, fold it—once,” she looked hard at Tony again, “and toss it in the hat.”

Natasha handed out the index cards and Pepper drew a handful of pens from her purse.  Steve had an old fedora that he used to collect the cards.

“Steve, you going all 40s on us?” Tony couldn’t help asking.  He’d never seen Steve wearing that hat.  He usually stuck to baseball caps when he wore a hat at all.  Not that Tony had noticed.

“It’s um, it’s my…” Steve trailed off uncertainly.

“It’s his adopted dad’s hat,” Sam finished for him.  “Dude, you know Abe doesn’t mind when you call him that.  He likes it. He’d be hanging your crayon drawings on the fridge if you were still at that stage.” He clapped Steve comfortingly on the shoulder. 

“Well, he has excellent taste,” Peggy declared, drawing the attention off Steve.  Tony was still watching him, though, and he saw the grateful look Steve shot at her.  “Can I draw first? I don’t want to overstep my welcome.” Tony watched as she swirled her hand in the hat dramatically.  Not that many women could pull off the bright red lip color that she wore. She drew a card out, read it, and flashed a mysterious, coy smile. 

Bruce drew next, then Tony.  He unfolded his little card to see Steve’s name written on it.  Underneath his name he’d jotted: “To whomever draws my card: I don’t want a giant bunny either.” The little shit. Tony couldn’t help smiling a little. Mission accepted.  He’d make Steve something amazing. Something he’d never see coming. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Tony had five screens open with ideas of what to make Steve for his Christmas exchange when his email pinged. 

“Shell,

I’m so glad you’re not disappointed. For complete honesty though, I’m glad for two reasons. First, because I would hate for you to be sad about it.  But also,” Tony let out an audible gasp, “because I can’t stop thinking about you, about maybe meeting you, about kissing you. I know, that’s probably a little weird, since essentially we met online and for all we know you could be incredibly not attracted to me.  But I guess I just wanted to still have that possibility. Maybe when we graduate, when we’re ready to get out of here, we could meet up? See where it goes?

And no, Bucky was more like a brother to me. Never had a crush on him.  And I think I found what country he’s been in—if his family is still assigned to the embassy, I might be able to reach him. 

But not because I have a crush on him.  Because I don’t. In case you were just wondering. 

Love, Flying”

It was impossible not to read the last paragraph in a sarcastic, teasing tone.  Still, Tony didn’t mind.  Flying basically said he had a crush on him, on Tony, and Tony would definitely take that.

\--

When Tony showed up to pick up Steve for the finals study group session, Rhodey and Pepper in tow, the door was already open. And there was a familiar silver volvo next to Peggy’s bicycle.   What the hell was going on?

“Whose car is that?” Pepper asked.  “It looks familiar, doesn’t it?”

“That’s Dr. Selvig’s volvo,” Tony told them.  “He’s sent me to get his briefcase out of it like half a dozen times just this month.”

“Maybe he’s…” Rhodey tried, but didn’t know how to finish it. 

Dr. Selvig walked out with… that man did look really familiar, but not familiar-familiar, but like he’d seen his picture or he was an extra in a ton of movies… Or like he was in a… textbook? Dr. Erskine, right? He was a pioneer in bioethics and developing CRISPR technologies.  Dr. Selvig turned and gave Erskine a brief hug, patting him on the back sympathetically.  The two turned to look toward the driveway, where Tony’s brain was busy catching up with him.  Abe? Abraham? As in Dr. Abraham Erskine was Steve’s adopted dad?  How had he never known this? What else had Steve been quietly keeping hushed up? It made sense why they’d never met before—Erskine was constantly on panels in bioethics conventions. He probably traveled more than Howard.

“Tones, get a grip,” Rhodey hissed at him, nodding toward Tony’s still open mouth.

“Ah, Tony,” Dr. Selvig said, motioning him forward.  “Mr. Rhodes, Miss Potts.” 

“Hi, Professor,” Pepper said, always professional, as Rhodey nodded. 

“I didn’t realize you were all friends of Steve’s,” Selvig said.

The sound of a slightly raised voice came from the door, clearly Peggy.  “—should be more than suspended!” she was nearly shouting.

Steve rounded the doorway, pulling up short when he saw people in the driveway.  His gaze took in Tony, Pepper, and Rhodey, then glanced down to his lack of shirt, and raced back inside. 

“What. The hell.  Was that.” Pepper’s tone was ice. 

Tony’s own brain was divided. Half of it was still ogling Steve’s gorgeous chest, his abs.  Half of it was seeing red, clearly echoing Pepper’s rage, at the purpling bruises and angry welts on Steve’s skin.  And a good 20% was kicking himself for ogling an injured friend.  So he had 120% brains, what of it?

Peggy strode over to Pepper, a ragged shirt and a packet of Neosporin still in her hands. “He won’t listen to me, Pepper,” she pleaded.  “I told him he should press charges against the monster but he won’t do it.  Says Brock’s going through a difficult time!”

“Brock. Rumlow.” Rhodey said. Tony knew him, of course.  A little. Rumlow had studied with Rhodey for the SATs for at least two months, trying to better his score. He was funny, but it could be a little mean sometimes.  Tony’d just figured it was something like his own humor, covering up for his own inadequacies. Hey, Tony was introspective—he knew what he was doing with his deflecting type of humor.

Peggy nodded.  “That bastard just started in after the sweet little boy on Steve’s team, saying his parents would be glad they didn’t have to see their son grow up to be—it was horrible, and just because Peter almost touched Brock’s new motorcycle. He didn’t even touch it—well, he did make a rather rude comment about whoever had bought that kind of machine, something about horsepower—and Brock swung at him—”

Tony could almost fill this one in on his own.  Brock swung at the kid, and so of course, Steve decided to get in the way of that punch.  Jesus.  Brock was part of the football team, and he spent most of his free time in the weight room.  Steve was lucky he didn’t look worse at this point, jumping in unprepared. 

“—he told Steve to get out of his way, told him to move, and the sweet idiot just says, ‘No, you move,’ and lets the monster swing at him! Meanwhile Peter’s scampered off, like Steve told him to, because at least the child has a working sense of self-preservation!” Peggy took a deep breath, still clearly fuming.

Steve came out of the house in a long-sleeved Henley, although a shirt couldn’t exactly cover the puffy nick by his left cheekbone. 

“Peg, it’s okay, I’m fine,” he said, walking over to her, grasping her hands.

She looked downright furious at him. “He owes you, Steven. More than just some sop-gut apology that Fury’s going to send him over with.”

Speak of the devil. A rumbling motorcycle pulled up in front of the house, and Brock Rumlow got off, hanging his bucket helmet over one handlebar.  Tony noted that he was favoring his left side heavily, and moved like he was extremely sore.  Good.  Asshole deserved whatever Steve dished out. 

“Got a crowd, I see.  Classy, Rogers,” Rumlow ground out.  “Very Harry Potter with the team building.”

“They’re not, I didn’t,” Steve started.

“You should be goddamned grateful he’s not pressing charges, you foul git,” Peggy snapped at him. 

Dr. Selvig walked over, obviously the school referee in this scenario. 

“I’m sorry I lost my temper, Rogers.” Rumlow kept the sneer just below his voice, too low to be called out.  “This is a difficult time of the year.  I’m sorry I broke your painting.” He turned to Selvig.  “Done?”

Selvig looked at Steve.  Steve just shrugged and nodded.  He stretched out his hand to Brock.  Brock just looked at it, walked back to the motorcycle and flipped it on, riding away in a cloud of dust. 

Selvig spoke a little more to Dr. Erskine, then waved to the others and backed the volvo out of the driveway. 

“Is that—Steve, you’ve got…” Tony motioned toward his eyebrow, which was flecked with blue. 

Pepper pulled out a wet wipe and passed it to Peggy, who scrubbed vigorously for a moment, making Steve’s skin pink and his eyebrow tousled.

“Paint,” Steve supplied.  “I was painting when the—when, and um, my palette got broken. I was working on our blue period piece.” He looked apologetically at Pepper.  “But it wasn’t the painting. Just the palette.”

Pepper fixed him with a very direct look.  “I don’t care about the painting, Steve.  I’m glad you’re mostly alright.”

“Wait a goddamn minute, what did he mean ‘difficult time of year’?” Rhodey asked, making Tony smile gratefully on the inside. 

Steve looked at Pepper.  Her mouth twisted.  “His mother died a few years ago.  It’s the anniversary.”

How the hell did she know that?

“How the hell do you know that?” Rhodey asked for him.

Pepper grimaced.  “Fury thought it would be a ‘cute’ idea if the yearbook did interviews on students who had lost parents—how they thought their parents would feel about them graduating. It was scrapped, obviously.”

Dr. Erskine had wandered over and now stood close to Steve.  “Ah, the famous Miss Potts, I assume?  Steve speaks highly of you.  And you must be the other half of the ‘best looking part of the track team’?” he nodded teasingly at Rhodey.  “And Tony Stark, of course.  Your reputation precedes you, of course.  I read the paper you wrote for Selvig on the scientific accuracy of _The Martian_.  It was quite brilliant, although I think you forgot to account for the lessened atmospheric pressure in the first section.”

Tony bubbled with pride. “No, I included it in the analysis portion, because it was endemic to the rest of the issues, and I led with it in the opening,” Tony countered.

“Ah yes,” Erskine responded thoughtfully. “I like the thinking behind that strategy.” He noticed the rest of them shuffling a bit.  “I believe you have a study group to attend? If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with Steven for a moment, and then off to study for you all.”

He pulled Steve aside for a moment and the rest of them tried not to overhear too clearly.  Peggy headed back inside to grab her notebooks and leave the Neosporin and ruined shirt. Tony couldn’t make out many of the words, but thought he caught “proud” and “son” and “good.”  That cut a little close to home. It stung, really.  He blinked and tried to think of happy things.  Murdock filing paperwork next week, being finally so close to being free. The way Hammer had too much pressure from upcoming finals to harass Tony too much.  Flying, and the way that he did seem to like Tony, too.  He blinked again, and then his treacherous brain—

A motorcycle. Mother dead a few years. Harry Potter. Playing a sport. SATs. No. No no no. There was no way, was there? He couldn’t be this much of an asshole just to cover up his secrets?  If he was, Jesus, he’d done too good a job. No way to ask right now.  Maybe Tony could just drop some hints in an email tonight? See if he’d had a particularly bad day?

Still, “Pep, what’ s a palette? Is it that funny board thing Steve uses for the paint?”

Pepper didn’t bother suppressing her eye roll this time.  “Yes, Tony.  Steve had a good one, too—sturdy.  They’re pricey.” She cleared her throat, trying to dislodge her irritation at Brock at the same time. 

Silver lining.  Tony knew exactly what he could make Steve for his Christmas exchange.  Perfect.  He could make a palette thingy out of that new metal stuff he’d gotten from Mr. Morita.  Kismet.  It was great.  He’d start it just as soon as he figured out how to ask Flying if he was actually a giant douchenozzle on the outside and went around punching little kids. 

They loaded into the car, everyone. Tony’d had to borrow the Q7, but he didn’t mind.  Pepper hopped in the front seat, Rhodey in the next, and Peggy still fussing a bit over Steve in the back. 

“Tony, mind if we swing by and pick up Jimmy? He said he wanted a little help with physics before the final,” Rhodey asked, leaning forward in his seat.

“What am I, a soccer mom?” Tony complained, but no real fire in it.  Yeah, they could definitely pick up Jimmy.  He’d much rather his anonymous pen pal was Morita than Douchey McDoucheface.  If Flying was really Rumlow, he’d done a great job of layering on the asshole over the nice guy who was hiding inside.  “Sure, we can go get OtherJim.”

“Jim Morita?” Steve asked from the back.  “Really? Tony that would be so great!”

“Yeah yeah, let’s go get your new playdate,” Tony grumbled, hiding the rising tension.  When they pulled up, Jimmy had quite the smile on his face. 

“Hey man,” Rhodey said as Jimmy got in the car. “What’s with the face?”

Jimmy seemed like he couldn’t help it.  “I just got early acceptance.  To Columbia.  With a scholarship and work study.  It’s close enough I can commute, and my dad isn’t going to have to pay anything.  I’m just… I’m so damn happy.”

Steve clapped him on the shoulder from the back seat.  “Morita, that’s amazing! I know your mom would have been so proud of you.”

Tony shot a sidelong glance at Pepper who chewed the end of her pen a bit guiltily. Clearly she already knew about Morita’s mom. Tony wasn’t sure why Pepper had to feel so guilty—it’s not like the interviews had been her idea.

Morita took a deep breath.  “Yeah.  Thanks, man.  Thanks for encouraging me to take that SAT the last time, too.  I think that 1500 is what sold them on me in the end.” Tony’s ears perked up, tallying points on his invisible scorecard of Who Might Be Flying, which sounded more like a drug reference and less like a guessing game when he said it like that.

Steve smiled.  “You earned it. Besides, you’re on the swim team and student council and your grades are amazing.” Tony added another tally to his not-a-drug-reference list.

Morita got a closer look at his face. “What the hell, Rogers? What happened to you?”

Steve sent Peggy a look, then said, “Long story. No big deal.”

Peggy huffed irritably.

Steve repeated, “No big deal. Misunderstanding.  So, what’s first on the agenda for the study session?” It was clumsy, but Pepper stepped in for him, running through her schedule she had prepared for them all. 

Tony let half his brain do the studying, and the other half tried to think of an innocuous question that he could ask Jimmy—a litmus test, so to speak.  It had to be vague enough not to be too weird, but specific enough that not everyone would answer the same.  Obviously Batman was out; he’d tried that already. And he couldn’t really ask about Bucky.  That was way too specific, and if Jimmy _was_ Flying he’d probably think Tony was trying to force his hand by asking that kind of question in public.  Cookies?  Pieter and Steve both baked, but not that many guys did. Chess?  Again…

Electronics! The electronics on a motorcycle. That wouldn’t be so far out of the normal scope, what with the Moritas owning an electronics shop. And they were still talking physics. Perfect. This was a golden opportunity, ripe for the taking, almost made for Tony.

“Okay, Morita, here’s a puzzler: You’ve got a Street Triple and a Moto Guzzi V7 Racer transversal V-twin. Which has higher horsepower?” Tony definitely had not been googling motorcycle specs to ask the question. 

“A what? Sorry, Tony. Moto Guzzi is a scooter, right?” Jimmy asked, trying to follow. 

“Sorry, I’m babbling—I saw a motorcycle earlier today and it just, my brain, it takes off with me sometimes. What are we studying? Hey, Pep, don’t glare at me, I was paying attention, I swear, just until the last minute!” Tony held up his hands defensively.  Steve was also giving him a look, probably for referencing Brock’s dumbass motorcycle. Tony looked over his notes with guilty intensity. Damn.  It wasn’t him.

\--

Tony put down his tablet.  He’d created the plans for making Steve’s new palette.  He’d use the new shiny metal he’d gotten from Mr. Morita.  Whatever it was, it’d hold paint.  It was strong, too.  It could probably take a punch even. 

He picked up his phone.

What was he supposed to write? So, had a really bad day? Punched any blond guys lately?  And maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe it was someone else. Maybe it was someone he’d never even talked to, although that wasn’t very likely, since Shield High was fairly small.  Tony had probably at least talked to every senior once. 

“Dear Flying,

I’m really glad finals are coming soon.  How was your day?” That was general. That was bland.  “I’ve been thinking about you a lot.” It was true.  He’d been hoping, a lot, that it wasn’t Rumlow. 

“Love, Shell”

Tony went to the workshop and set the metal disc in the fabricator.  He’d tinker for a little.  Get things ready.  He hit play on one of his playlists and started uploading the design, shaking his hips in time to the bass. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> author knows nothing about art or motorcycles or science


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brief mentions of attempted assault and depression 
> 
> author still knows nothing about anything. except depression?

“Shell,

You can’t imagine how glad I was to see an email from you.  Just hearing from you makes me feel better.  And you had great timing! I actually had a pretty crappy day today. No big deal, but seeing your email.  You just, you’re so true. You’re so real, even if we’ve never met.  In person.  I’m so lucky to have you. Not that I do, but you know what I mean.  It was a tough day for me.  How was yours?  
Love, Flying.”

 

Well, fuck.  Tony paused the lathe where it was narrowing the rounded edges of Steve’s new palette.  It was beautiful, round and perfectly balanced, even to Tony’s critical eye.  He brushed the metal softly, thinking rapidly.

“Flying,

I was thinking about colleges.  You know, big deal, hearing back from them soon. Do you think I should consider how good the football team is? I’m not really into a lot of sports, but since you do play sports, do you think that will affect campus life?

Love, Shell”

His email pinged almost immediately, as he was looking at straps to stabilize the back of the palette, making sure it wouldn’t slide too easily from Steve’s palm. 

“Shell, I don’t know much about football. Is going to games important to you? I’ve been to a few of our games, but mostly just to hang out with friends.  I guess it’s good for that aspect?

Love, Flying”

Tony breathed a sigh of relief, his whole body relaxing.  He knew he’d been keyed up, but he didn’t realize how much he didn’t want Flying to be Rumlow until he was sure it wasn’t. 

He wrapped Steve’s gift. It was perfect. 

Tony felt a vague, almost nostalgic ache go through his chest when Steve unwrapped his gift.  The warmth of his smile, the way his whole attention focused on the palette, seeing it, understanding and appreciating the beauty and the symmetry, it was like Tony himself was seen, understood.  He wished Flying could be like Steve.  He wished _he_ could be like Steve, at least a little more.  He brushed off Steve’s thanks glibly, but he could hear the wonder in his voice.  _Shove that down_ , he told himself.  _Rogers isn’t your man_. 

Sam gave Tony a drone he’d built, but he also gave him free reign to “upgrade the hell out of it” without being offended.  He said that was the real gift. 

Everyone else seemed pretty satisfied. Natasha gave Sam a round of Krav Magra lessons.  Said she’d learned it overseas (she was as vague as ever) and wanted to toughen him up.  Steve had made Pepper a gorgeous painting, reminiscent of the Obama posters, but with Pepper as the star.  The entire group agreed they’d vote for her.  Pepper had made Peggy a scrapbook of her time she’d been in the States, with extra pages to fill in throughout next semester.

Peggy had hand-selected and blended a batch of teas for Bruce, and Bruce had designed a flight simulator program for Rhodey to use on his Xbox, still a point of contention for Tony.  Rhodey shamefacedly admitted to being the weak link this year. He bought a batch of throwing knives off of Amazon for Natasha (“But I spent hours searching for the right ones!” he claimed, “And that should count for something!”).  She still looked pleased, polishing them surreptitiously on her sleeve. 

It was later that Natasha gave him the best gift he could hope for this year: his paperwork from Matt Murdock.  His assets were legally separated.  He started moving out immediately, Dum-E going into the new apartment first.  Howard and Maria were in Portugal for the next month.  Tony had completely moved out of the house by the New Years.  He told Flying that his internet might be spotty, but Flying said he was going to be gone anyway. In fact, all of Tony’s friends IRL were out of town for the break, getting back only the night before school started. He didn’t bother telling them where he lived yet, the new place.  He’d invite them all over on Monday, when they got back.  Until then, he’d be alone.  Still, being lonely was better than being stuck at home with his father. 

\--

Tony had never been so excited for school to be back in session.  Turned out he missed everyone more than he thought he would.  And Flying had said he was excited to be back in the same place as Tony, even if they didn’t know who they really were.  The halls were buzzing with excitement, kids filtering in slowly.  As the first bells rang, Tony stopped by his locker, dropping off the new workbook he’d gotten from Ms. Simmons.

“So what’s the big secre—Hey, isn’t that—hey!” Sam dropped all his shit at Tony’s feet and sprinted toward the door. 

“What the hell, Wilson?” Tony started, looking up at the door.  Jesus. Tony’s workbook fell to the floor as he trailed Sam to the double doors.  A tall cop was loading Steve into the back of a squad car while another was clearly trying to calm a visibly irate Peggy.  Tony just made it outside when Principal Fury started shooing everyone back inside, rumors churning around him.  Tony’s last glimpse before he was squished back into the hallway was Hammer on a stretcher and Gilmore Hodge sporting a black eye. 

No one paid any attention during class.  They may as well have canceled them. Instead, rumors ran rampant—Steve had ambushed Hammer and Hodge (both of them?), Steve had been painting Peggy naked, Steve had been dealing drugs—the rumors got more and more ridiculous throughout the day, but by lunchtime, the word was out. 

According to Peggy Carter, Hammer and Hodge had cornered her in the art room.  They’d started groping her and she punched Hodge, giving him that glorious black eye and chipping the polish on her thumb. They’d gotten her arms behind her when Steve had walked in, seen what was going on, and thrown his palette (Tony’s palette!) at them.  It had knocked Hammer out, and Hodge, true to his nature, fled. 

She posted on insta and ShieldSpies after the administration wouldn’t say anything “to protect privacy.” Tony had set an alert on his phone, and tweet after tweet went after Hammer and Hodge.  Hammer got his legal team on it immediately, but damage was done. The gossip sites—real gossip sites, not just high schoolers—picked up on the story since Hammer was such a big name in tech.  CNN started interviews by the time school was out—Howard even did a videoconference, gloating.  It was ugly, even to Tony. 

“If my son ever did anything like that,” Howard began, preening in the spotlight.

Tony switched channels. 

His phone pinged.

“You’re screwed, dickbag. Think daddy will love you now?”

Then a screenshot of ShieldSpies, announcing that Tony was gay, blasting his emails. And trending.  Fuck.

He logged into his email immediately.

“Flying, please please don’t freak out.  I just got outed, and it accidentally got you outed too.  I’m so sorry.  They still don’t know who you are.  Please.  Love, Shell.” Tony looked at it.  Deleted Shell.  Hammer had already outed him.  He could at least sign his own goddamn name.  “Love, Tony.”

He hit send. 

Tony’s phone started blowing up, but it wasn’t email.  Pepper.  Rhodey.  Natasha.  Sam.  Howard.  Howard. Howard. Pepper. Rhodey. Howard.  Pepper. Pepper. Pepper.

He switched his phone off.  He could still check email on his laptop. 

He turned the television back to CNN, watching in a daze as the news cycle picked up Tony’s story instead, then shifted to talking about “today’s teens” and if there were major psychological problems with them.  His email stayed empty.  At three am, he went to bed. 

Tony’s alarm woke him up at six am.  He checked his email.  Nothing. 

He went back to sleep.  School could go fuck itself. 

By noon, his bladder was calling.  Tony got up, refreshing email automatically on his way to the bathroom.  Nothing.  There was no way Flying didn’t see the story—if not on ShieldSpies, then on CNN, Fox, local news… He’d at least have checked his email by now.  He checked his email at least three times a day, not that Tony was counting—he just noticed things. 

Someone knocked on his door. 

He didn’t answer.  It wasn’t like anyone knew where he lived.  Literally no one.  Matt Murdock, but then, attorney client privilege.  Even the landlord didn’t know he had Tony Stark as a tenant, since Murdock has rented the apartment through a dummy corporation.  It was probably the mailman, or a traveling god salesman, and it wasn’t like Tony was going to be buying.  Did he have time to talk about Jesus? No.  He’d just been outed on national television. The televangelists weren’t really going to be hoping they could save him.  Burn him, more likely. 

Tony refreshed email.  Nothing. 

He heard footsteps leaving the apartment. 

He plunked down on the edge of the bed.  His phone was still off.  He scrubbed a hand through his hair, frustrated.  He refreshed his memory in a rote gesture, habit. Nothing. 

Tony pulled a blanket around him.  Dum-E rolled over and tried to poke it, but unsuccessfully.  He missed by a wide foot and a half.  Idiot.  Tony halfheartedly knocked his claw away.  Wasn’t his fault.  He opened a new tab, turned on Netflix, and tried to drown out his own thoughts.  Doubtless Howard would be trying to figure out how to do damage control, how to get his hands on Tony.  Who to bully to get the right info, the right story. How to protect SI stock. How to get Tony to pray the gay away.  School was probably a madhouse. School.  Tony hoped that Steve and Peggy were okay, but with Peggy in charge, there was no way anyone was going to railroad Steve.  She’d handle it. Hodge and Hammer would probably get what was coming to them after all.  Hopefully. 

Stomach acid threatened his throat, he was going to vomit if he kept thinking about Hammer. He turned up the volume on Netflix and tried to block out the world, pulling the blanket over his head.  Somewhere around episode three, he drifted off. When he woke it was dark. Netflix had long-since paused. “Are you still watching?” No.  He didn’t even remember what he’d been watching in the first place.  He dragged himself to the kitchen. There was coffee, a yogurt he didn’t remember buying and a frozen burrito.  He ate the yogurt, microwaved the burrito.  It tasted a little freezer-burned, but he didn’t really care.  He bypassed the coffee entirely. Didn’t even want it. Tony checked his email again.  Nearly 10pm and still nothing. 

He wasn’t going to get a reply, was he? Flying had abandoned him.  Flying had left him.  Maybe it was just being outed.  Maybe it was the spotlight.  Maybe it was the fact that everyone was talking about him at school—hell, on the news. 

Or. 

Or maybe it was him.  Maybe it was Tony.  Maybe Flying had heard the news, seen who Tony was, who he really was, and found him lacking.  Flying might not think he was cute. Might think he was a nerd. Maybe he just didn’t think Tony was attractive.  Not even his fault. 

That burrito seemed like it wanted to make a reappearance, so Tony lay down in his bed and tried to keep it down.  He didn’t wake up until the next morning.  Still nothing in email. 

Desperate, he sent one last email. 

“Flying,

Please, if you care about me at all.  Please just write back to me.  Just let me know… something. Anything.”

Tony screwed around a little with a little gadget he’d been working on, propulsion-based.  Not a lot progress, but he wasn’t really trying, heart not really in it.  There wasn’t any food in the fridge anymore.  But Tony couldn’t bring himself to go out.  Or even order anything in.  Eventually he just trudged back to his bed.  Not much of a safe haven.  He curled up again, Netflix back on.  In some part, he just wished he wouldn’t have to wake up. Wouldn’t have to deal with tomorrow. With the end of today. With everything. It was overwhelming. It felt like there was no way out. 

He woke up hours later.  Dark again outside.  Tony wandered out to his kitchen aimlessly.  There wasn’t anything there when he left, no reason to think anything would be now. 

Except there was.

A pot of mac’n’cheese. Still warm to the touch.  Natasha then.  She hadn’t left a note, and the door was relocked. He didn’t know how she’d found him, or how she’d gotten in, but it was definitely her.  She had a skill set no one else did.  Where she picked it all up was a big question, but he put it out of his mind for now, picking up the pot and a spoon and dragging it back to his bed. 

He ate half of it, putting the rest in the fridge.  Nothing on Netflix seemed to grab his attention.  And he still wasn’t ready to face the world, but he at least washed his spoon, even drying it and putting it back in the drawer, and brushed his teeth. They were disgusting, fuzzy. That was it though. That was all he had in him.  He drank a glass of water, and then got back into bed.  Refreshed email, as if it wouldn’t do that on its own.  Nothing.  He stared at the screen until he fell asleep again. 

It pinged at just after 3am.  Tony scrambled up, immediately, knocking his powered-off phone onto the floor next to his history textbook.  An email from Flying. Tony’s hands were shaking, he was almost crying, even though he wasn’t sure what it said yet.  But he cared, somehow he cared.  He opened the message.

“Tony, I know who you are.  You wouldn’t want me, if you knew who I am. There’s no way you would want me. I’m sorry. I really hate to disappoint you.  Especially you.”

That was it.  That was everything.  Tony tried to send a quick message back, but it bounced back.  Undeliverable.

Tony kept staring at the screen. That was the end of it, then.  Okay. He could deal. It was what, 3:08am?  And he’d missed two days of school.  Sure.

Tony made coffee. Drank three cups of it.  He showered, brushed his teeth again.  He picked up his history textbook, read the two chapters, answered the homework, wrote the responses.  He read the first section of _Things Fall Apart_.  Ironic.  Math was a breeze.  Fifteen minutes, tops.  He worked his special projects.  Easy.  He had two more cups of coffee.  Brushed his teeth again.  He turned on his phone, deleted anything from Howard, briefly looked over the “Call me!” messages from his friends. He got dressed, brushed his hair.  His friends, he’d said they would stand by him. He’d said he had confidence in them.  Time for him to test it. 

Tony looked in the mirror.  He looked… normal.  He didn’t look difference.  He looked like Tony Stark, millionaire genius nerd. 

He exited the apartment, stopping for bagels on the way to school.  He grabbed a dozen.  Their friend group wasn’t quite that big, but Sam, Steve, and Rhodey could always eat. 

When he parked at school, he took one last look at himself in the rearview mirror.  This was it.  Taking a deep breath, he stepped out of the car, nearly tripping over Natasha. 

“Glad you’re still alive,” she said casually. 

He could do casual.  “Thanks for the pasta.”

She took a sip of coffee, but Tony could see a smile.  “No problem, Stark.  I got your back.”

Tony felt warmth wash over him.  She did.  “How’d you get into my place? How’d you even know where I live?”

She shrugged.  “Certain skill set.  I’m good at tracking things down.” She swiped the bag of bagels out of his passenger seat, slipping a cranberry bagel out of the bag.  She nudged his shoulder, kindly, and started walking with Tony toward the door.  “She looks pissed,” Natasha noticed, looking at how Pepper was narrowing her eyes at Tony from the doorway.

“Yep.” Jesus. 

“Tony Stark, you idiot, you could have told us! We love you, you know!” Pepper was teary. 

He held out the bag of bagels. “I know, Pep. I know.”

She threw her arms around him, squishing the bagels.  Rhodey hugged him, too. “It’s been a weird couple of days, Tones,” he said. “Weirder not having you around though.  Don’t go disappearing on us again, okay?”

Tony choked up a little, though he’d deny it for sure.  “No prob, Rhodey. Have a bagel.”

“Poppyseed? Yes!” he grabbed one out of the bag, pulling out a plain one for Pepper while he was at it.  Their reunion was blocking the steps, but it was just as well, given that Steve and Peggy just pulled in, looking a little haggard. 

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, let’s not make this more awkward than it is.  Steve doesn’t want a big do, you know how he is,” Peggy warned them all as Sam walked over.  “No jailbird jokes, no asking him annoying questions.  Of course he hasn’t been charged, it was just Hammer’s legal team putting pressure on the DA. Hammer and Hodge, on the other hand, will be looking at some jail time if I have anything to say about it.”

Steve just blushed and looked away, embarrassed.

“Just glad you’re back, man,” Sam said.  “History was too boring without your little doodles.”

Steve glanced at Sam, grateful, but didn’t quite seem to catch Tony’s eye.  Well, maybe he was a little uncomfortable, having heard about Tony.  Didn’t really seem like a Steve thing to do, but maybe Tony was just taking things personally. Seeing things that weren’t there. After all, Steve seemed a little embarrassed overall, not quite meeting most people’s eyes. 

Tony held the bag of bagels out.

Steve looked at him, smiled, still a little awkward.  “You didn’t have to, Tony,” he said, although Tony wasn’t sure if he meant because Steve was getting out of jail or because Steve knew he was gay and didn’t need any bribes to still be friends.  It didn’t really matter, anyway. Tony did know Steve would stand with him.  Just like Sam, and Pepper, and Rhodey. Just like Natasha.  And Bruce, who was just pulling up in his beetle.  He went into class with all of them, around him, a tight knit little pack.  His people.  These were his friends. Flying's rejection still stung. And Tony was still mad as hell about being outed, not on his own terms, not in the way he chose. But his friends were with him, the way he’d known they would be. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish there was more. But there isn't. I realize it's short, but it's all I've got.

School was school.  Evidently, it continued, despite any upheavals Tony experienced. Despite any time Steve may have spent in lock up (Natasha had gotten Murdock to put aside his “I don’t really do this kind of lawyering, Ms. Romanoff,” to take on Steve’s case.  Steve was going to be just fine).  Hammer didn’t end up coming back though. Nor did Hodge.  Not by the time February rolled around, anyway. 

Tony’s friends were everything he said.  It didn’t change anything, anyway, only now Pepper’s parents didn’t care if he spent the night.  A small silver lining there.  They knew how to listen, and how to leave certain things lie.  Howard hadn’t been able to touch him—he’d disowned him, but he hadn’t been able to do anything. Matt Murdock was a goddamn genius, and Tony’s assets were ironclad against poaching. 

But through it all, Tony’s days were a little more lonely.  A little less meaningful.  A little less.  And it’s not like he had spent time moping on the couch—on the contrary. He’d gotten into MIT, with offers from Cal Tech, Berkeley, and, unaccountably, three from Harvard.  He’d somehow been voted royalty for the Valentine’s dance—whether it was someone’s twisted joke or just a strong statement of support, either way, he’d take it.  And if anything, his friends had all gotten closer.  But still.  Through it all, every day.  He still thought about Flying.  Still wondered.  Flying said Tony wouldn’t want him, if he knew. Said he didn’t want to disappoint him.  Like Tony mattered to him.  Like he cared. 

Which brought Tony here.  Now.  At the Valentine’s dance.  Pride be damned. 

“Hey, everybody. You all know by now, that I’m gay.” Tony’s voice shook, a little, but it was strong.  “I didn’t choose to say it that way, but it’s there. And it’s true.” He wiped his palms against his jacket, crown a bit askew on his head.  He looked at Pepper, Valentine Queen. She nodded encouragingly. Tony took a deep breath, then: “And I’m in love with the guy who is on the other end of those emails you all saw.  Flying, I don’t know what you look like, but I know who you are. I know you.  I know that you are kind, and generous, that you champion what’s right, and that you are smart, and thoughtful. I know that I love you. And I’ll be waiting for you, until midnight, at the place you mentioned you go to remember that someone is always in your corner.  Because I am.” Tony’s voice cracked a little at the end.  The room was a blur, nothing in focus. He handed the microphone over to Pepper, who hugged him tight, and walked out, not looking around, not looking back.  Silence held until he stepped out of the doors, but he could hear commotion as it latched behind him.

He drove the A4 over to Gapstow Bridge.  The night was cold, but a clean cold, not snowy, the air was dry.  The moon illuminated everything, reflecting off of the river, placid as glass.  He checked his phone.  10:42.  That was more than enough time, right? That was enough time for someone to hear about his little display via snapchat even if Flying hadn’t been at the dance itself. 

10:55. 

Tony willed himself to think of other things. Anything else.  He kept running over the details in his mind. Who was Flying?  Was he being catfished? What details had he missed? A guy on a bike, with a blaring throwback boombox, weaving drunkenly through the park, blasted The Ataris for the sleeping squirrels and pigeons.

10:59.

A couple strolled over the river, holding hands. They stopped and kissed in the moonlight before they continued away from him.  He pulled his jacket closer.  It had only been twenty minutes.  If Flying needed more time, well, Tony had said.  He checked ShieldSpies. A video of him was up.  Good quality, and it got the whole speech.  Natasha. Must be.  She had an uncanny ability to know his moves.  Comments shot back and forth, on the whole positive. More than he would have thought.  He watched the comments roll in, checked the time on his phone again. 

11:16.  A new hashtag was trending, people who supported him.

“I believe in love! #shellhead” one comment read.  It popped up again seconds later. “Go get your man! Love conquers all! #shellhead”

Tony huffed a quiet laugh to himself.  If nothing else, it was a cute tag.  He watched the moon. Somewhere, distantly, he could hear people laugh.  A group of people, clearly having had a few drinks, stumbled past, singing a Queen song relatively on-key.  Their falsettos faded into the distance, erupting in a faint laughter.

11:49.

The cold crept closer. 

Flying wasn’t coming. 

Tony tried to keep his hope up.  There were still eleven minutes.  But he’d been there for an hour.  Flying wasn’t coming.  Whatever he wanted, turns out it wasn’t Tony.  Tony felt like his whole body was shutting down, slowly solidifying.  He wanted to become a part of the landscape, one of those replica Japanese lanterns, or a tree.  Misery knotted in his stomach.  He put his head down on his knees.  Tomorrow he would tell himself that it was still worth it, that he was out, on his own, that he had his own assets, that he had great friends.  Tomorrow he would tell himself that he stood up for what he wanted, that he put his heart on the line, he was brave.  Tomorrow.  He could do that tomorrow.  He took a deep breath, getting ready to stand, to leave this place, this place where Flying came when he was feeling happy, or sad, or when he just wanted to feel like he had a place in the world.  And Tony was the intruder, really.  Time to vacate the premises, give it back to its rightful owners. 

A twig snapped, to his right.  Tony’s breath caught. He willed himself away from hope.  It could be a stranger.  A cop.  A stray dog. 

“Tony?”

He thought he might shatter.  He thought his stomach and his heart might not stay inside his body. He thought… He thought he recognized that voice. 

With a final warning to himself— _prepare for disappointment, Stark_ —he looked up.

At Steve Rogers.

“Steve?” Tony’s voice sounded off, even to him. “What are you doing here?”

Steve’s eyebrows drew together, worried.  Tony knew that expression.  “I. This is. This is my place.  You said, and this is my place. Where I go.”

Tony just continued to stare.  But Lorraine. “No. It isn’t,” he blurted out. He’d written Steve off as impossible so long ago it didn’t add up. 

“Tony?” Steve bit his lip.  “I’m sorry.  I know.” He looked away, over the river. His eyes were brilliant somehow, reflecting the moonlight mirrored in the river. “I know.  I’ll just.  But I didn’t want you to be here, waiting, thinking that I didn’t love you, too.  Because I do. Because you’re amazing--you are, you know? You’re amazing.” He rubbed his hand sheepishly on his thigh, looked down as if the ground had answers.  “And. And when you find someone you really want, he’s going to be so goddamn lucky.” He smiled at Tony, though it looked wrong on him, somehow.  Not a real smile. Not a Steve smile.  He took a step backward.  “Um.  Be careful getting home. Do you want me to call someone for you? Jim, or Pepper?” Steve turned, clearly uncertain if he should leave Tony alone in Central Park at midnight, but not wanting to overstep his bounds. 

Christ.  Tony vaulted from where he sat, he was on Steve in seconds, hands plunging into his jacket, reaching up to kiss him, to really kiss him, kiss that look off his face, the doubting one, the one that thought somehow, beyond all reason, that Tony didn’t love him, too.  His nose hit Steve’s but it was okay, Steve held him up, caught the momentum of his pounce and gently, so gently, ran his thumb over Tony’s cheek. The perfect first kiss. 

Steve drew back, a little, looking down at Tony’s eyes, glinting moonlight.  “You’re not…” he let out a short, pained breath. “You’re not disappointed that it’s me?” It was too dark to see how blue Steve’s eyes were, the stars lighting him from above instead.

Tony reached up and kissed him quickly.  A perfect second kiss.  “I’m ecstatic that it’s you.” Steve’s lips were soft, the way they always looked, and he kissed like he did everything, sweet and purposeful. 

A cheer went up from on the bridge, a howl that was very clearly Peggy Carter, ridiculous and British, a “Get it, Rogers!” from Sam.  Tony was fairly sure he could hear Pepper opening a pack of tissues she would undoubtedly be using to dab at the mascara her tears might threaten. 

They paused kissing, turning to look at their friends, Steve’s arms encircling Tony naturally, the most obvious position in the world.  Rhodey was giving them a thumbs up and Natasha just winked slowly.  Peggy kept up her catcalling and Sam joined in, a loud caterwaul under a perfect full moon. 

“We’ll be waiting at the cars!” Pepper called to them.

Rhodey grinned. “Don’t take too long or we’ll send back a search party.”

“Ignore them, loves! Get your man! The night is young!” Peggy shouted over her shoulder. 

“Get it!” Sam added again, jostling Peggy with his shoulder. 

Their voices blurred into a drinking song Peggy had been teaching them recently, then faded as they made their way toward the cars. 

Tony had never been one to believe in fate. It was too whimsical. There was no proof, no science.  He still didn’t.  But there was something so right about this, about being here, with Steve Rogers, in his arms, Steve smiling down at him, somehow keeping all of him warm, keeping him close, keeping his heart. Somehow it felt exactly like coming home. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.


End file.
